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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WfST  MAIN  STRiET 

WEBSTIR.N.Y    USBO 

(716)  ■73-4S03 


CSHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CmM/JCMH 
Colilection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  biblicgraphique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  una 
modification  dans  la  m^thode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquds  ci-dessous. 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couvertura  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommagee 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restai^rde  et/ou  pel!icul6e 

Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 


a^: 


Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blu3  or  black)/ 
era  de  couieur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


□    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


n 

D 

m 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents* 


D 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Page!:  endommag^es 

Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pelliculdes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d^color^es,  tachet^es  ou  piquees 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d^tach^es 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


I      I    Quality  of  print  varies/ 


Quality  in^gale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Compiend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


D 


0 


Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intdrieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  po-^sible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajouties 
lors  dune  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  Mi  filmies. 


n 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  tctalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  ur  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  film^es  d  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  meilieure  image  possible. 


n 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  supplAmentaires; 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  U\mi  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu6  ci-detBOut. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


/ 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grSce  d  la 
gdn^rosit^  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  eanu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  re<emplaire  filmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmcge. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  ere  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^e  sont  filmds  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filrn^s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d  illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  ■—♦►  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  —^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE  ',  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  chartf.,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  t\,o  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
fiimds  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diff§rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  i  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1  2  3 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

»■»►. 


;v^' 


r. 


^4p^ 


V     . 


ap-. 

■i.  -  ■' 


~J 


.*r  fi    V 


W^' 


X,»>.!-JKi. 


.«.*-., 


■H 


tffT 


c  v^ 


ICTURESQUE  AMERICA; 


OR, 


THE  LAND  WE  LIVE  IN. 


A  DELINEATION  BY  PEN  AND  PENCIL 


OF 


"HE  MOUNTAINS,  RIVERS,  LAKES,  FORESTS,  WATER-FALLS,  SHORES 

CANONS.  VALLEYS,   CITIES,  AND   OTHER    PICTURESQUE 

FEATURES  OF   OUR   COUNTRY. 


A." 
•■>>Si-'  ■ 


^♦ith  Itltt^ttatidtt^  aw  f  twt  mi  ^ni,  %  ^min^nt  gmwifatt  %€mA%. 


ff-'m      •^ 


EDITED  BY  WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


•TK     - 


>  /}. 


VOL.    I  I. 


« 


rC'.:"^ 


-:%..<■< 


NEW    YORK  : 
D.     A  PPL  ETON      AND     COMPANY, 

5  49    &     551     BROADWAY. 


'^iA^t- 


ttt     •  '  * 


''■^i 


Ii  ^ 


.u, 


".  APl'I.KTON    AND   COMPANY' 
'"■h^Omce.,r,,.eU,,raHa„  of  Cong.es,  a.  wLhi„,..o... 


87-1.   by 


CONTENTS,    VOLUME    SECOND. 


SUBJECT. 

HIGHLANDS     AND     PALISADES     OF    THK    > 
HUDSON.  i 

PHILADELPHIA  AND   ITS  SUBURBS. 

NORTHERN   NEW  JERSEY. 

VALLEY   OF   THE   CONNECTICUT. 

BALTIMORE  AND    ENVIRONS. 

THI-:   CATSKILLS. 

THE   JUNIATA. 

ON   THE  OHIO. 

THE   PLAINS   AND  THE  SIERRAS. 

THr:   SUSQUEHANNA. 

BOSTON.  fr 

LAKE  GEORGE  AND   LAKE  CHAMPLAIN. 

HOUNT  MrtNSFIELD. 

VALLEY  OF   THE  HOUSATONIC. 

Tin;   UPPER  MISSISSIPPI. 

VALLEY  OF   THE  GENESEE. 

ST.    LAWRENCE  ANu  THE  SAGUENAV. 

EAs  I  i;rn  shore. 

Tin     ADIRONDACK   REGION. 
HE  CONNECTICUT  SHORE  OF  THE  SOUND. 
IKE   MEMPHREMAGOG. 


ARTIST. 


E.     L.    BURLINGAME. 

Harry 

Fcnn. 

I 

C.   D.  Gardette. 

Granville  Perkins. 

23 

W.  F.  Williams. 

Jules 

Tavernier. 

47 

W.  C.  Richards. 

J.    D. 

Woodward. 

61 

J.   C.   Carpenter. 

Granville  Perkins. 

97 

Henry  A.  Brown. 

Harry 

Fenn. 

116 

R.  E.   Garczynski. 

Granville  Perkins. 

134 

Constance  F.  Woolson. 

Alfred 

R.    W'aiid. 

146 

E.   L.   Burlingame. 

Thomas   Moran. 

168 

R.  E.   Garczynski. 

Granville  Perkins. 

.•04 

G.  Af.   TowLE. 

J.   D. 

Woodward. 

229 

0.     B.     BUNCE. 

Harry   renn. 

253 

RossiTER  Johnson. 

Harry 

Fenn. 

276 

W.  C.  Richards. 

7.   D. 

Wood-.i'ard. 

288 

R.  E.  Garczynski. 

Alfred 

R.    Wand. 

318 

W.    S.   Ward. 

7.   D. 

Woodward. 

353 

W.  II.   Rideino. 

7ames 

D.    Smillie. 

370 

G.    M.    TOWLE. 

7.   D. 

Woodward. 

395 

Robert  Carter. 

Harry 

Fenn. 

414 

W.  C.    Richards. 

//'.    // 

Gibson. 

436 

W.     II.     RiDEINO. 

7.    D. 

I  I'oodward. 

45' 

IV 


CONTENTS,    VOLUME    SECOND. 


SUUJF.CT. 

THE  MOHAWK,  ALBANY,  AND  TROY. 

THE  UPPER  IJELAWARE. 

WATER-FALLS  AT  CAYUGA  LAKE. 

THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS. 

THE  CANONS  OF  THE  COLORADO. 

CHICAGO  AND  MILWAUKEE. 

A  GLANCE  AT  THE  NORTHWEST. 

THE  MAMMOTH  CAVE. 

NEW  YORK  AND  BROOKLYN. 

WASHINGTON. 


Ai'irioR. 

AUTIST. 

rA>;i; 

R. 

E.  Garczynski. 

Woodward  and  I'tiiii. 

457 

W. 

H.     RiDElNG. 

7    D.    IVoodward. 

471 

W. 

H.     RiDElNG. 

J.  D.    IVoodward. 

477 

W. 

H.    RiDElNG. 

Thomas  Moran. 

482 

J- 

E.     COLBURN. 

Thomas  Moran, 

503 

O. 

B.     BUNCE. 

Alfred  R.    IVaud. 

5'2 

W. 

II.    RiDEING. 

At/red  K.    IVaud. 

5=9 

w. 

H.     RiDEING. 

Alfred  A'.    IVaud. 

540 

o. 

B.     BUNCE. 

Harry  Fcnn, 

545 

G. 

M.    TOWLE. 

W.   L.   Sheppard. 

566 

r.  i 


U 


i-t  ?<■ 


NEW 

DOMI 

WESI 

MOUl 

PHIL/ 

CONN 

BALT 

SUNK 

CITY 

CITY 

EMIG 

CALII 

THE 

BO  ST 

LAKE 

THE 

THE 

QUKE 

Bi:VE 


rAr.i: 
457 
4/1 
477 
4S2 

503 

529 

510 

545 

506 


LIST    OF    ENGRAVINGS    ON    STEEL. 


VO.'.UME     SECOND. 


SUBJECT. 

EW  YORK,  FROM  BROOKLYN   HEIGHTS. 
)ME  OF  THE  CAPITOL. 
WEST  POINT. 

MOUTH  OF   THE   MOODNA. 
PHILADELPHIA,  FROM   BELMONT. 
CONNECTICUT  VALLEY,  FRO.M   MOUNT  TOM. 
fALTI.MORE,   FROM   DRUID-HILL   PARK. 
SUNRISE,  FROM  SOUTH  MOUNTAIN.  CATSKILL. 
CITY  OF   CINCINNATI. 
CITY   OF   LOUISVILLE. 
EMK;RANTS  CROSSING   THE  PLAINS. 
CALIFORNIANS   LASSOING   BEAR. 
iSfHE  SUSQUEHANNA. 
.  BOSTON,   FROM   SOUTH   BOSTON. 
LAKi;   GEORGE. 
THi;   HOUSATONIC. 
Till.  CITY  OF   ST.   LOUIS. 

^§ur,i!EC. 

BEVERLY  COAST,  MASSACHUSETTS. 


ARTIST. 

A.  C.  Warren. 
Harry  Fenn. 
Harry  Fenn. 
David  Johnson. 
Granville  Perkus. 
J.  D.  Woodward. 
Gramville  Perkins. 
Harry  Fenn. 
A.  C.  Warren. 
A.  C.  Warren. 
F.   O.   C.   Darley. 
F.  O.   C.   Darley. 
Granville  Perkins. 
J.   D.   Woodward. 
J.  W.   Casilear. 
A.   F.   Bellows. 
A.  C.  Warren. 
J.   I).  Woodward. 
J.   F.   Kensett. 


engraver. 

face 

pace. 

G. 

R.  Hall. 

Frontispiece. 

E. 

P.    litandard. 

Title 

-page. 

S. 

V.  Hunt. 

face    9 

G. 

\V.    Wctlslood. 

2\ 

R. 

lUnshelivood. 

40 

R. 

Hhis/iclu'ood. 

80 

R. 

Hinshchvoo  '. 

97 

S. 

r.  Hunt. 

126 

IK 

Wdlstood. 

161 

E. 

P.  lirandard. 

165 

//. 

n.    Hall. 

176 

F. 

Holl. 

201 

R. 

Hinshehuood. 

216 

E. 

P.  Brandard. 

^il, 

R. 

Hinshclwood. 

256 

S. 

V.   Hunt. 

289 

R. 

Hinslichvood. 

321 

R. 

Hinshclwood. 

384 

S. 

V.  Hunt. 

401 

!  y 


h  i 
I 


■  I. 


VI 

SUBJECT. 

ADIRONDACK   V'OODS. 

EAST  ROCK,   NEW   HAVEN. 

THE   ROCKY   MOUNTAINS. 

CITY  OF   MILWAUKEE. 

TERRACE,   CENTRAL   PARK. 

WASHINGTON,   EKO.M   ARLINGTON    HEIGHTS. 


L/Sr   OF   ENGRAVINGS    ON  STEEL. 


ARTISI. 

KNCRAVEK. 

FACE  PACIE. 

J- 

M.     l'\RT. 

A'. 

Hiitsncliiiood. 

425 

c. 

G.    C.RISWOLD. 

5. 

V.   Hunt. 

444 

w 

Whitteredge. 

R. 

J/ins/ii-iii'ooil. 

4C3 

A. 

C.  Warren. 

R. 

Hinshchvood. 

528 

C. 

Rosenberg. 

G. 

R.   Hall. 

557 

W. 

L.    SHtPP.VRU. 

R. 

Ilinshelwood. 

569 

i 


■A 


FACli   PAIIE. 


444 
4o3 
528 

557 
569 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Poughkccpsic,  and  iH  l''(>iinili.'rie»  at  Ni|>lit. 


HIGHLANDS    AND    PALISADKS    ()I<    THI-     HUDSON. 

\i 

t*  WITH     I  I,  f,  USTR  ATtON  S     II  V     HVrRV     FKNN. 

()  those  who  arc  .villinn  to  ai<v|)t    such   nudlitriisivc  companionship  as  wo   have   to 
offer,  in  this  artist's  voyage  ainonjr  th,.  uohlcsj  scrncs  of  our   most    Itcautilul    and 
Bricct   American  river,  we  must  say  at  the  l)e^riniiinir  that   we  shall   not    lollow    the    tia- 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


ditions  of  tlic  ordinary  guide.  To  him  it  matters  little  tiy  what  path  he  leads  a  tra\-. 
eller  to  'lie  most  glorious  outlook,  m)r  does  he  eare  for  his  observer's  frame  of  mind; 
he  will  sudilenlv  show  you  the  Rhine-fall  from  the  baek-door  of  a  dingy  beer-house,  and 
point  out  your  hrst  view  of  Niagara  through  the  dusty  window  of  a  hackney-coach. 
l"(j  us,  the  way  of  approach  seems  of  no  li^^tle  moment ;  and  here  especially,  among  the 
scenes  we  knt>w  so  well,  we  have  our  fixed  i>leas  of  the  traveller's  most  satisfying  course, 
'ihe  true  wav,  then,  to  learn  the  noblest  beauties  of  the  Hudson's  grandest  region, 
is  to  enter  the  Highlands  with  the  river's  course;  beginning  the  voyage  from  some 
point  above,  watching  the  growing  picturesquencss  of  the  stream,  and  noting  the  gradual 
rise  of  the  hills,  the  increasing  Lrandeur  of  their  outline,  and  the  deepening  majesty  of 
their  piesenee,  until,  with  his  heart  full  of  this  slowly-gaining  beauty,  one  finds  himstlf 
amt)ng  the  perfect  pictures  which  lie  in  the  very  midst  of  the  mountain-group.  Let  us 
emc-  on  our  journc)-  in  search  of  the  picturesque,  then,  from  some  point  at  a  little  dis- 
tance uj)  the  river.     Newburg  is  too  near  the  Highlands;    it  lies  in  the   shadow  of  their 


I  III'   lliuU 


iiiilh  from  Newbury. 


HIGHLANDS    AND    PALISADES    OF    THE    HUDSON. 


s  leads  a  trav- 
rame  of  mind ; 
beer-house,  and 

hackney-coach, 
illy,  among  tlic 
itisfyinsj  course, 
rrandest  refrion, 
ige  from  sonu' 
ing  the  gradual 
ing  majesty  of 
i  finds  himsi'lf 
'roup.      Let   us 

at  a  little  dis- 
ihadow  of  their 


i?f 


On  the  OlO  Nowburg  TollKoad. 


Indeed,  our  place  of  depart- 
ure is  itself,  in  the  matter  of 
picturcs(]ue  outlook,  iiol  to  he 
desjjised.  Tlv  "rural  city,"  as  one  of  our  writiMs  has  called  it.  lies  very  pleasantly 
upon  its  group  of  gentle  hills,  and  overlooks  a  bright  and  sunnv  portion  of  ihe  river- 
view.  liy  day,  one  may  (piarrel  a  little  with  thr  smoke  of  its  busy  foundcries,  but  by 
nigiit  these  become  the  most  strangely  bi-autiful  and  striking  featiuc  in  many  miles  of 
the  Ihu'son's  scenery.  They  light  the  river  like  weird  beacons,  and  the  sound  of  their 
great  furnaces  ct)mes  across  the  water  in  the  stillness,  as  .hi  pat  'ing  of  giants  that  toil 
irhen  the  weaker  forces  of  the  world  ,»re  all  asleep. 

Our    departure    from    Poughkeepsie    allows    us   to    ap|)roach    the    llighl.iuds    bv    the 
^ong  Reach" — that  (|uiet  and    sunnv  portion    of  the    river's   course    that    here    lies    like 
broad,  straight  avenue  between  the    beautiful    banks,  for    more   than   twenty  miles.     Its 
,^pppcr  extremity  is   at    Crom    lilbow -the  Kroiu    I -'.11  choice  of  the  old   Dutch  settlers;   its 


II 


^?^B%^'.i 


■  ^ 


Ii '  , 


P/C  TURliSQ  Uli  A  ME  RICA. 


I;  \ 


■J 


lower  is  at  Newburp^.  Sail- 
ing down  it,  wo  jiass  manv 
points  which  their  histor\ , 
as  well  as  their  heaut), 
makes  noteworthy.  Here, 
on  the  eastern  bank,  twn 
miles  below  the  town,  is 
Locust  Grove,  entitled  to 
remembrance  as  the  summer 
home  of  Morse,  whose  name 
the  wires  of  his  telegraph 
have  told  to  all  the  world, 
A  mile  or  two  fiirther  on, 
where  Spring  Brook  comes 
into  the  Hudson,  lived  stout 
Tiieophilus  Anthony,  the 
blacksmith,  a  century  ago, 
who  helped  to  forge  the 
great  chain  that  once  guard- 
ed the  river  at  Fort  Mont- 
gomery, below.  Farther  still 
in  the  Long  l^each  lie  thr 
bright  little  villages  of  Mil- 
ton and  Marlborough,  al- 
most hidden  from  the  rixr 
by  the  high  banks ;  we  pass 
New  Hamburg,  too,  called 
into  sad  prominence  a  year 
or  two  ago  by  one  of  thf 
terrible  disasters  that  are  all 
too  common  now ;  and  so, 
noting  ])ictuies(iue  little 
iMshkill  on  our  left,  wr 
come  upon  the  beautiful 
ic     most 


liurg 


lay 


|)erfect  of  the  Hudson's  har- 


K)rs. 


by 


the 


gati 


of 


tli(    1 1 i)ihlands,  opposite    the 


^ewburfr.     Sail- 

\vo  jiass    manv 

their    liiston , 

their  beaut  \, 
/orthy.  Here, 
2rn     bank,   two 

the  town,  is 
e,  entitled  to 
as  the  summer 
>e,  whose  name 

his    telegraph 

ail    the  worl( 
vo    fiiither    on, 

Brook  comis 
!on,  lived  stout 
Anthony,     thr 

century  a^(  i, 
to  forge  the 
at  once  jruani- 
t    Fort    Mont- 

Tarther  sti 
Reach    lie   tiic 
llages  of  Mi 
rlborough,    al- 
roni    the    rix  i 
inks ;   we  pass 
g,   too,    call( 
inencc   a   ye;ii 
y  one    of  tli. 
■s  that  are   all 
now  ;   and  m  i, 
res(iue       lit  I 
Mr     left,     wt 
the     beautiful 

—  the     most 
Hudson's  hai- 

tlie    gate    oi 
opposite    the 


f"l 


J  ■ 


1 1 


/4 


■  *>"■>'#■■  V"* 


/YC TURESOUE    AMERICA. 

range  of  the  Fishkil! 
hills,  and  overlooking  ,i 
stretch  of  river  and  shoiv 
suc;>  as  you  mny  hanlh 
find  anywhere  else  in 
the  world,  Newburg  lies 
with  its  bright  gnui] 
of  picturesquely-clustered 
houses,  with  memoriiN 
of  old  Revolutionarv 
days  surrounding  it,  \\w\ 
every  association  con- 
nected with  it  tluii 
should  make  it  a  marked 
town  among  our  liistorit 
places.  1 1  ere  were  Wash- 
ington's headquarters  dur- 
ing a  part  of  the  storm- 
iest of  the  war  -  time 
and  here,  in  combat iiij; 
with  the  strongest  and 
simpliest  eloquence,  the  work  of  the  famous  "  Newbuvf; 
Addresses,"  he  perha])s,  more  than  anywhere  else,  showed 
how  great  agents  were  his  strength  of  will  and  earnest  purpose  in  the  sal- 
vation of  tlic  country. 

If  is  with  the  beauty  of  the  old  town,  however,  and  not  with   its  iii^- 
tory,  that  we  have  to  do.     I'rom  the    shore    below  it  we    have    gained    one    of  the    m(« 
perfect  views  of  this  noble  part  of  the    Hudson's    course.     We    see   the    entrance   of  tin 
Highlands,  and  the  broail  expanse  of   water  lying    between    this   and    the    town.     This  i^ 
the  vcrv  perfection  of  an  approach  to  the  glorious  scenery  below.     The  broad    bay  fontb 
a  kinil  of  enchanted  border-region,  which   the   true  guide  will    let    his  visitor   study  W(  II 
and  it  and  its  shores — along  which  one  should  pass  to  fully  learn  the  beauty  of  the  gnu 
stretch    of  sunny  river — |)ut    one    in    the    truest    mood    for   the    first  sight  of  the  grand' 
aspects  of  mountain  and  stream  upon  which  he  is  to  look  with  the  next  stage  of  his  join 
ney.     One  should  pass,  we  sav,  along  tin-  shore    as  well    as    make   the  voyage    upon    tii 
river,  to  catch  the  full   beauty  of  this    scene    in    Newbuig    liay.     The   old    toll-road   run 
along  the  western  bank  of  the   Hudson  here,  and  gives  from  lime  to  time  such  glinip'^i 
of  the  hills  below  as  ate  worth  a  day's   travel    to    aeek.     I'rom    one    of  these    Mr.    Fenii 
has  shown  tlu    very  spirit   of  the  whole  scene.     This  is  a  |)ortion  of  the  journey  that  ih' 


St.   Mary's  Cliurcli   at 
Cold   Spring. 


tt 


of  the  Fishki 
nnd  ovcrlookinji  j 
1  of  river  and  slmu 
IS  you  mf»y  lianlh 
anywhere  else  in 
orki,  Newburg  liis 
its  bright  gr()ii|i 
turesquely-clustend 
i,  with  mcmoriiN 
Id  Revolutionan 
iurrounding  it,  ;;;'.d 

assoeiation      eon- 

with      it      tluii 

niaiie  it  a  marlcid 

imong  our  iiistoric 

1 1  ere  were  Wash- 
's headquarters  dur- 
part  of  the  storm- 
f  tiie  war -time 
sre,  in  combatiiif; 
he  strongest  and 
anious  "  Newburir 
viiere  else,  showed 
iirpose  in  the  sul- 

not  with   its  his- 
one    of   the    most 

entranee    of  tin 
e    town.     This  i- 
broad    bay  foriii-- 
sitor    study  well 
auty  of  the  great 
't   (if  the  grandi 
stage  of  his  join 
oyage    upon   tin 
li    toll-load    luiis 
ic  such  glimpses 
these    Mr.    Feim 

journey  that  no 


HIGHLANDS   AND    PALISADES    OF    THE    HUDSON. 


one  should  miss.     And  now  we  are  within  the  gates  of  the  Highlands  themselves,  in  the 
presence  of  the  great  Storm-King  and  the  dark  pile  of  the  Cro'-Nest. 

To  us  these  two  noble  mountains  are  the  grandest  of  the  Highland  range.  They 
h*ve  a  charm  that  might  induce  a  man  to  live  in  their  shadow  for  nc  other  purpose 
than  to  have  them  always  before  him,  day  and  night,  to  study  their  ever-changing  beauty. 
For  they  are  never  twice  alike ;  the  clouds  make  varying  pictures  all  day  long  on  their 
oded   sides,  and    nowhere   have  we   seen    more   wonderful   effects   of  shadow   and   sun- 


Gliinpsc  of  Ihc   lliidsun  frmn  I'ort  rmiiam. 


shine.     Under  the  frown 
of    a   low    thunder-cloud 
they    take    on     a     grim 
majesty  that  makes  their 
black  masses  strangely  threatening  and  weiid  ;  one 
forgets  to  measure  their  height,  and  their  massive, 
strongly-marked  features,  by  any  common  standard 
of    every-day    measurement,    and     they    seem     to 
wer  and  overshadow  all  the  scene  around  them,  like  the  very  rulers  and   controllers  of 
the    coming  storm.      And    when    the    sunlight    comes    back    again,    they    seem    to    have 
gilt  it,  and  to  look  down  with  a  bright   benignity,  like  giant  |)rotectors  of  the  valley 
1   lies  bi'low. 

Heyond  thi'm,  on  a  remarkable  and  beautitul  promontory,  extending  into  the  river 
what  seems  to  us  (he  most  i)erfeet  point  of  the  whole  course  of  the  Hiuison,  lies 
est    Point.      It    has   always   luen   to   us  an   ideal   place.      In    its    shores,  every    view   of 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


I 


v 


-^^^^  %:*•.., 


vf*'>' 


which  is  full  of  jjicturesque 
charm  ;  in  the  dark  hack- 
prouml  of  its  hills;  in  the 
aspect  —  soniewliat  unusual 
in  our  America  —  of  its 
earthworks  and  defences, 
-     .    and     all     the     surroundings 

■7^         that  have  been  driven  it   hy 

'  '  fc  .  the  long  years  of  its  occu- 
pancy as  a  military  school ; 
in  its  broad  plain,  forming 
the  central  ground  of  hu- 
man action,  on  which  the 
great  natural  ain|)liitheatre 
of  the  Highlands  looks  si- 
lently down ;  even  in  the 
grouping  of  its  cluster  of 
.  buildings,  and  in  the  pictu- 
resque monuments  about  it, 
that  call  up  so  many  mem- 
ories, there  seems  to  us  a  harmony  of  beauty  that  makes  the  site  of  our  important  mili- 
tary post  one  of  tlu-  most  attractive  spots  in  the  whole  country. 

It  is  from  West  Point,  too,  that  the  most  satisfying  views  of  the  Hudson  itself  an 


ivK/y- 


View  south  from  the  Acni'emy  Grounds. 


inportant  mili- 
Ison  itself  are 


,.|,-.    "r.       ,   Jf 


\ 


\ 
^ 

V 


^ 

K 


i   ■  I'- 


to   l)( 

parat 
ward 
him 


•li 


I;.  \ 
f  i 

in 

'■];'  i 


such 
cloud 
haze, 
see  i 
rver 
when 
first  t 
peltin 
of  rai 
one   ( 

can  si 
I 

out  a 

what 

one  n 

things 

every\ 

back 

once  ! 

the  w 

that  c 

cess  u 

glorioi 

thems( 

the  nil 

ing  sti 

dream 

C 

menu  I 

green 

as  to 

M  the 


ore, 


HIGHLANDS   AND   PALISADES    OF    THE    HUDSON 


'be  gained.  Whoever  has  looked  out  from  the  broad  veranda  of  the  hotel  near  the 
parade— the  familiar  "  Roe's  "—and  seen  the  broad  reaeh  of  the  river  stretching  north- 
ward between  the  picturesque  dark  hills,  never  forgets  the  perfect  vista  that  lies  before 
him  here. 

E(iually  beautiful  in  sunshine  and  shadow,  and  fairly  glorious  in  a  storm,  this  is 
such  a  scene  as  no  other  river  can  show.  Sit  and  watch  it  lying  under  the  sky  of  a 
cloudless  autumn  morning,  wiien  its  outlines  all  seem  mellowed  with  a  touch  of  golden 
haze,  and  it  is  framed  by  the  many-colored  splendors  of  the  foliage  of  late  October;  or 
see  it  when  the  perfect  beauty  of  the  new  green  of  spring  is  over  its  hills,  and  the 
pver  is  just  rippled  by  a  touch  of  air;  or,  best,  perhaps,  and  certainly  grandest  of  all, 
when  the  overhanging  thunder-cloud  of  a  summer  afternoon  comes  slowly  nearer,  and 
first  the  sharply-outlined  black  shadow,  and  then  the  distinct,  cl  arly-marked  edge  of  the 
pelting  storm,  apjiroach  across  hills  and  river,  until,  with  the  growing  thunder  and  whirl 
of  rain,  you  find  yourself  overtaken  by  the  tempest ;  see  this  picture  of  the  Hudson  in 
one  of  these  aspects  or  in  all,  and  you  will  grant  that  no  Old  World  vaunted  Rhine 
can  show  you  more  and  truer  beauty  than  is  thus  given  in  our  own  home. 

But  this  perfect  river-view,  which  lies  always  before  the  visitor,  to  be  enjoyed  with- 
out an  effort,  and  to  satisfy  even  without  any  thing  else,  is  really  only  the  beginning  of 
what  West  l-'oint  has  to  offer  to  a  lover  of  the  picturesque.  Turn  in  whatever  direction 
one  may  from  the  parade-ground  of  the  academy — the  recognized  central  point  of  all 
things  at  the  post — he  finds  new  points  of  outlook,  and  new  beauty  waiting  for  him 
everywhere.  On  the  summit  of  Mount  Independence,  an  irregular  hill,  some  distance 
back  from  the  dver,  are  the  ruins  of  old  Fort  Putnam — such  ruins  as  are  left  of  the 
once  stout  work  ;  and,  climbing  to  these,  one  gains  a  new  glimpse  of  the  Highlands  and 
the  water.  It  is  useless  to  try  to  show  in  words  the  different  and  always  fresh  charm 
that  each  new  point  of  observation  gives ;  nor  could  the  pencil  show  it  with  entire  suc- 
cess unless  it  could  fill  a  volume  with  sketches,  in  which  even  then  one  would  miss  the 
glorious  coloring  that  forms  a  crowning  beauty  of  these  hills.  The  ruins  of  the  fort  are 
themselves  picturesque,  with  that  beauty  of  ruins  that  is  so  rare  with  us  in  America — 
the  nameless  charm  that,  even  for  the  least  sentimental,  always  surrounds  an  old,  decay- 
ing structure  that  has  played  its  part  in  the  world,  and  seems  resting  and  looking  on 
dreamily,  only  an  observer  now,  and  not  an  actor. 

Close  by  the  central  grounds  of  the  academy  theu  are  other  relics  of  old  days, 
monuments  that  have  an  interest  besides  their  picturesque  aspect,  as  they  lie  among  the 
green  of  the  turf  and  trees.  Along  the  steep  shore  of  the  river,  that  rises  so  suddenly 
as  to  form  a  series  of  sharp  precipices  and  rough  terraces  between  them,  there  are  many 
of  these  memorials,  and  many  historic  nooks.  Here,  half-way  down  the  slope  of  the 
sSbre,  is  "  Kosciuszko's  Garden,"  where  the  brave  Pole  used  to  make  his  favorite  haunt, 
and  where  he  would  lie  and  read  in  his  leisure,  regardless,  according  to  the  story,  of  the 


"I:       ■ 


¥' 


If: 


THE    HUnaON     AT    "COZZBNS'S.' 


""^<i. , 


.  c 


HIGHLANDS   AND    PALISADES    OF    THE    HUDSON. 


II 


that  shot  from  the  vessels  in  t!ie  river  now  and  then  struck  the  rocks  not  far  away. 
ng   the    paths   that    lead    from    one   to   another   of  these   natural  terraces  are  smooth 

,  on  which  the  names  of  famous  victories  have  been  cut    in    large,  bold    letters;   the 

s  and  ferns  give  to  these  natural  frames  of  green,  and  the  plain  records  arc  the 
most  perfect  that  could  have  been  devised — better  than  any  tablets  of  less  noble  sim- 
plicity. There  is  no  lack  of  memorial-stones  erected  by  men's  hands,  however ;  here  and 
ttere  a  column  or  an  obelisk  looks  out  from  the  foliage — a  monument  to  some  army 
\xtXo,  who  once  went  oi't  into  earnest  battle  from  the  quiet  existence  and  i)etty  events 
of  "  the  corps." 

.  ^  Down  b\-  tin-  most  beautiful  ])art  of  the  shore  runs  the  path — memorable  in  the 
lives  of  countless  fledgling  soldiers — that  has  !)een  named  i)y  profane  souls  "  Flirtation 
Walk"  -a  designation  at  which  the  heart  of  any  man  over  twf)-and-twcnty  must  sink,  in 
dtoipair  of  his  race.  l^)r  the  path  is  a  perfect  ideal  of  beauty;  at  every  point  of  its 
COtlrse  there  are  glimpses  of  hills  and  river  that  it  makes  a  man's  whole  life  better  to 
itt^e  seen ;  and  vet  it  must  exist  for  whole  generations  more  of  gray-clad  youngsters 
Uftder  the  title  of  "  I'lirtation  Walk!"  Not  that  we  (|uarrei  with  the  fiict  of  the  flirta- 
tion— under  sun,  moon,  or  stars,  there  is  no  such  jilace  for  tender  j)assages  and  summer 
love-making — but  why  did  nut  some  young  hero,  witii  his  memory  full  of  tiiese  things, 
christen  it  i)y  any  name,  though  ever  so  ultra-sentimental,  that  would  commemorate 
them   belter  iban  the  chosen  title  that  now  rules? 

I'rom  the  shad)  nooks  of  the  West  I'oint  shores  one  may  look  out  upon  parts  of 
^  opposite  i)uik  tiiat  are,  in  their  (piieter  fashion,  also  beautiful.  Opposite  the  prom- 
<S6^ory  of  the  Point  lies  the  little  village  of  Cold  Spring -a  bright  grouj)  of  houses 
^  the  water.  Above  and  below  it  the  shore  rises  into  high,  steej)  bank>,  and  on  one 
of  these  stmds  the  little  church  of  St.  Mary's,  which  Mr.  Fenn  has  chosen  for  a  pict- 
fiHS  that  might  almost  persuade  one  he  was  looking  up(m  some  view  of  a  little  chapel 
crowning  the  rocks  by  an  old  river  of  luirope,  so  (piaint  is  it,  and  so  foieign  in  its 
features  to  the  ordinary  aspect  of  our  American  scenes.  Near  by  it  the  railway  rinis 
alunix  the  bank  and  through  a  rougii  tunnel  in  the  ragged  point;  but  the  little  ehuich 
lOllks  like  a  mediaval  building,  as  far  removed  as  possible  from  the  pr.u ileal  progress 
of  to-day. 

:  Hut  we  nuisi  not  long  digress  from  the  detail— even  though  it  be  so  meagre  of 
idK  beauties  that  more  closely  surround  the  West  Point  pl.iin.  We  should  be  unraithlul 
t^  om  duties  as  guide  if  we  did  not  leatl  the  looker-on  ai  ihesi-  favorite  scenes  of  ours 
to  some  few  more  of  the  points  from  wiiich  hr  will  carry  away  pleasant  memories.  One 
of  Ihisr  is  the  landing-place  itself  at  Which  he  tinds  himself  upon  arrival  bv  the  ordi- 
way  route  from  the  cit\  ;  for  (me  is  carried  by  the  train  to  (larrison's,  on  the  Hudson's 
WWern  side,  and  thenee  in  a  little  steamer  across  the  river,  and  is  landed  at  the  foot  of 
#j*  cliffs  of  the  promontory.     Here  is  a  road  leading  to   the    plain    above,  and    built    by 


I 


ll 


ll     I 


12 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


the  engineers  in  a  single  long  slope  from  the  water,  along  the  steep  face  of  the  shore 
to  the  point  where  it  again  reaches  level  ground.  It  is  to  this  road  and  the  views  sen 
from  it  that  we  would,  in  guide-book  manner,  call  the  reader's  notice.  Whoever  i 
sound  in  wind  and  limb  should  walk  up  the  long,  regularly-graded  ascent,  and  now  aiii 
then  look  down  at  the  river.  It  lies  below  him,  seen  through  the  branches  of  the  tiei 
as  he  will  see  it  nowhere  else.  Such  a  sense  of  overhanging  the  water  is  hardly  fii 
even  on  the   Palisades  themselves.     The  rocks  above  and  below  the  road  are  grouped  i: 


!■ 


%  \ 


Anthony's  None,   frrin  Ihc  Western  Shiirc. 


li.'t  I 


rough,  massive  forms;  the  sense  of  height  is  far  garter  than  actual  measurement  vmi: 
warrant  ;  and  the  outlook,  wherever  one  turns,  is  striking,  uid  such  as  will  be  g.nn 
from  perhaps  no  other  point  but  this,  inidwav  in  the  slope  along  the  cliff. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  promontory  from   this,  and    '.ome    <listance    iieyond   r 
academy  grounds,  is  the  cemetery  of  the  |V)st.     Overlooking  the  river  to  the   north 
east,  and  lying  in  a  little  level    plain    above    the    cliffs,  v.  he«-f    the    sunlight    falls   all    i 
long,  and  where  every  thing  in    scene   and    surrounding   seems   to  join    in   giving   tjur 


m 


HIGHLANDS   AND    PALISADES    OF    THE    HUDSON. 


13 


face  of  the  short 
nd  the  views  set 
itice.  V,'hoever  1 
ent,  and  now  an 
nches  of  the  tiee> 
ater  is  hardly  fcl 
ad  are  frrouped  i- 


easuremcnt  wnm 
IS  will  111'  j;.iiiu 
liff. 

ante    heyond  1 
to  the   north  .11 
iuhl    falls   all   ' 
ill   giving   ({u 


and  peaceful  beauty  to  it,  it  is 
^fUCh    a    restinj^  -  place    as    any 
~]^JKn  might  choose  after   a  sol- 
cKter's  stormy  life.      Here  Scott 
i$   buried,  and   here    are   many 
h®toes   of   fame    more    or    less 
widely  spread — all   honored    by 
yoi.nfrer  men   growing   up 
take   their    places,  with    an 
or   partly  made  up  of  gen- 
s   ambition    to  go   and  do 
them,  partly  of  an    admi 
n    for   bravery    in    the    ab- 
t,  and  partlv  of  the  name- 
and     indescribable     senti- 
t  of  veneration  that  hangs 
lUt  the  memory  of  "  a  grad- 
To  us,   the   cemetery — 
r':)oked   by  dark    old    Cro'- 
t ;    looking    down    011    the 
litter     far     below;     (juiel     and 
peaceful  in  the  sunlight;  silent, 
yet    never    gloomy,    under    tiie 
;  scarcely  touched,  it  would 
,  even  by  the  winds  of  the 
hiand    storms  —  is    among 
West     Point    scenes    that 
seems  most  beautiful. 

We  must  not  leave  the 
int  without  saving  somc- 
trang  of  the  associations, 
ich,  besides  its  beauty,  make 
place  full  of  interest  to 
traveller  through  the 
dson's  scenery.  I"(ir  here 
the  scenes  of  not  a  ivw 
ts  to  which  every  one's 
memory  turns  back  familiarly. 
aid  the  whole  neighborhood  is 


Near  Anilionjr'i  Nou  at  Niglit, 


'4 


PICTURESQUE  AMERICA. 


among  the  most    famous    regions    of  our    history.     During   the  War   of  the    Revolution 
West   Point  was,  if  not  the  principil,  at  least  one  of  the    most    important    military  post- 
in    the   country.     Singular   as  such  a  statement    must    appear   to    us    now,  it  was   lookcii 
upon — as  an  American  historian  has  phrased  it — as  the  key  to  the  passage    between   tin 
New-England    and    the    Middle    States — the    colonies    of  Revolutionary   days.      It    com 
mandcd  the  entrance  to  che   Upjrcr    Hudson;   it  was   the    centre   of  the   scene   of  m;in\ 
principal    movements   of  the    war ;   it    was    invaluable    as    a    deposit    tor   munitions,    inc 
troops  were  .nustcred  within  its  fortifications,  to  be  sent  to  every  part  of  the  theatre  of 
action.     Upon   its   defences  was    concentrated    much    of  the    attention    and    effort   of  tin 
Congress  and  the  leaders  of  the   army.     Here,  fr)m  (lee's  Point    to    Constitution    Island 
(no    longer    surrounded    by    the    stream),    was    stretched    across    tiie    Hudson    the    luiui 
chain,  to  which   reference   has   been   made   already.     "  It  was   laid,"  says   the   best   descri|) 
tion  that  we  have    at    hand,   "across   a    boom    of   heavy  logs,  that    floated    near    togetlur 
These  were  sixteen  feet  hmg,  and   jiointed  i't  each  end,  so  as  to  offer  little  resistance  ii 
the  tidal  currents.     The  chain  was  fastened  to   these    logs    b\'  sta|)les,  and    at    each   slion 
by  huge    blocks   of  wood    and    stone."     Several    of  (he  great  links  of  the  chain  are  \\k- 
served    at    the    Point;   and   the    work    of  the   stout    old    blacksriiith    looks   as    thougli   ii 
might  have  borne  the  wear  and  rust    of  centuries;    I)Ut    l)v  the  vessels   of  an    enemv  ii- 
strength  was  never  tested.     Here,  too,  on    a    conspicuous   part   of  the    promontory,   Kiis 
ciuszko  constructed  Fort  Clinton,  in    1778.     Of   port    Putnam  we    have    already  s|)okin 
and,  indeed,  (he  whole  vicinity  of  the   post  was   provided  with  no  mean  works  for   forti 
fication    and    tk fence.     It    is  not  hard  to  see,  then,  apart   from  other  reasons,  why  Wash- 
ington and  his  generals  looked   upon  it  as,  iKTha])s,  their  chief  fortress.     The   fighting  cdl 
onies  had  no  other  militarv  stronghold  of  such  extent   and  permanent  character  as  this. 
All  these  features  of  the  place  contributed  to  increase  the    magnitude   of  the   criiin 
which  will  alwavs  be  associated  with  the   history    of   West    Point — the   treason   of   Hciv. 
did   Arnold.      It   is  im|)ossible  to  forj^et   it   as  we  look  at  lb"     cene    of  the    plan — im|Mh 
sible  even  for  us,  who  have  come  to  seek   rather  the  beauty  of  the  present  than  the  '-lii 
ring    recollections   of  the    past.     Inevitably  we    picture    again    in    mind,  as  we    did   uhn 
school-bovs,  the  September    morning  when    the    traitor    heard    of  (he   miscarriage    of  hi 
plans,    and    wonder   what    feeling    caine    (o    him    as    he    ,sa(     a(    (he    table    of    Hevcil 
House  (where  Colonel    Hcverly   Robinson    had   made   his   home,  on   the  eastern   side   > 
the  river,  nearly  opposite  the  postV  and  the  noto  was  brought   to  him  from    his   subonli 
iiate  a(    the   inili(aiy  s(a(ion    Ixlow,  (ha(    said    "Major    AndriS  of  (he    IJridsh    army,  is 
prisoner  in  my  custody."     The  scene  with  his  wife,  the  hurried  flight,  his  (reacherous  mi' 
render  of  his  boatmen — all  (luse  (hings  th.it  were  wont  to  stir  our  blood  when  we  \<  .\ 
(hem   in  (he  school-histories,  come  back   (o  us  perforce  when   we  linger  a(    tli<-    Higlilm 
fortress,      it    must    have  Immii,  indeed,  a  sorrv  time  for  more  nun    than    .Arnold;    and    on. 
can  have  a  feeling  of  thorough  sympathy  for  (he   disheartened   eomniander-in-chief,  win; 


HIGHLANDS    AND    PALISADES    OF    THE    HUDSON. 


f  the    Revolution, 
ant    military  posts 
jw,  it  was   looked 
sajje    lietween   the 
y    days.      It    com- 
e   scene   of  manv 
)r   munitions,   :ind 
of  the  theatre  of 
and    effort   of  the 
onstitution    Island 
ludson    the    iuigt 
tlie   i)cst   descrip- 
ed    near   toget  her 
ittle  resistance  tn 
11(1    at    each   short 
he  chain  are  pu 
)ks    as    though   ii 
of  an    eneniv  \\- 
promontory,  Kos- 
•    already  spoken 
1  works  for   forti- 
isons,  why  Wash- 
The  fighting  c( 
haracter  as  this, 
ide    of  the   crinii 
treason   of   Ht  iv 
tlic    plan — im|)(i^ 
lent  than  the  stir 
as  we    did   wIkt 
liscarriage    of  hi 
ahle    of    iJevi  H 
eastern   side   > 
rom    his   suhordi 
rilish    army,  is 
;  treacherous  sir 
III  when  we  ii;i 
il    the    Ilighl.in 
Arnold;   and   om 
ler-in-chief,  when 


15 


he     turned     to 

Litfayette      and 

Knox    with   his 

St  d  d  e  11  e  d  , 

"Whom        can 

w^e  trust  uow  ?" 

But      we      are 

pb^ing    false    to     our    guide's 

duty  in  thus  digressing  to  talk 

of  the  hy-gone  days,  when    the 

Hadson     had     added      to     its 

biSiuties  the  inteiest  of  war. 

Because  we  have  lingered 
^lonp  in    the    beautiful    neighborhood    of   West    Point    and    its    really  glorious   scener). 
%  patient    reader   must    not  fancy  that   the  noblest   view.s   c.f  the    Highlands   approach 


Aninony's  Nu»c,  fnmi  lono  Islnnil. 


f  !.^ 


'i^i:'l   '■■ 


V    ^ii' 


i 
I 

i: 

i  i 


VI 


t6 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


'  -wm-^k^ 


^'M£  :-'.^ 


Vi'...'  from   IV'ckskill. 

their  ciul  when  the  picturesciue   mili- 

tarv  i)()st  is   passed.      So    far   is   this 

111)111    heiiii;^    tiie    fact,   that    we    fear   \vc    have 

iriveii   to    what    is,  we   confess,  our   favorite   of 

ail    tile   places   on    the    nver's  shore,  more  than 

its  share  of  time  and  space. 

For  we  have  not  yet  spoken  of  Cozzens's,  that  foniiliar  and 
f^reat  resort  of  summer  pleasure-seekers,  perched  hiph  on  the 
brow   of    the   cliff    that    is    the    most    prominent   on    the   western 

shore   for   several    miles    below   the    Military   Academy.      Nothiiifi   could    be   more   pictu 
res(jue   than   the   situation   of   the   ^reat   building   of    the   hotel,   high    up   in   air,   looking 
down    upon   all    the   noblest   of  the    river -views.      It    is   several    hundred   feet   above   llu 
water  in  reality ;    but  it   looks   twice   the   real    distance   from    the   low   shore   at   the   Imh 
of   the    cliff   to    the    foundations    of    the    house,   for  the    precijiice   is   here   so   bold   ;iii: 
rugged    that    tiie    most    practised    eye    is    deceived    by   its   appearance    of   great    luiL;li 
Along   this   steep   descint    runs   the    road,   cut    as   at   the   post-landing   above,   in   a   wd! 
graded  slopi'   from   the   river  to  the   summit    of  the  cliffs.     On    the    shore    Mr.  Fenn  hi 
found  a  point  of  view  where  one  may  deceive  himself  into  the  belief  that  he  looks  u|" 
some    legend-haunted    ruin    near  the    Uliine  nr  the   Neckar,  so   picturesciucly  are  the  i 
lines  of  this  commonplace  old  structure  by  the  Cozzens's  Landing  shaped    ind  scarred  i 
time  and  weather. 

Rut  we  must  hasten  on,  for  now,  a  little  distance  far+her  down   the   river,  we   ecu 


WfVia 


HIGHLANDS   AND    PALISADES    OF    THE    HUDSON. 


;[vi '  v^'*-A  i.^'. . 


W'. 


mm^. 


w. 


17 


upon  another  of  the  most  glorious  mountain-groups  of  the  Highlands — the  most  southern 
of  all,  forming  the  lower  gate,  as  the  Storm-King  and  its  fellows  form  the  up[)er.  Chief 
among  this  new  group  is  the  bold  height  of  Anthony's  Nose,  descending  sharply  to  the 
water  f)f  the  river  at  one  of  the  most  perfect  bends  in  all  its  course.  So  boldly  does 
the  promontory  jut  out  into  the  stream  that  it  seems  actually  to  close  its  channel ;  and 
the  good  Hendrick  Hudson,  as  he  approached  it,  thought  for  a  time  that  his  progress 
was  finally  brought  to  a  close,  and  that  the  arm  of  the  sea,  up  which  he  imagined  that 
he  was  sailing,  had  ended  here  among  the  hills.  The  steep  sides  of  the  headland  are 
dark  with  rock  and  forest  and  thick  undergrowth  ;  and  the  coloring  of  the  whole  is  so 
stern  and  sombre,  even  in  the  sunlight,  that  there  is  about  the  mountain  an  air  of 
majesty  that  makes  it  by  far  the  most  jirominent  of  the  chain  in  which  it  stands. 

Why  this  famous  height  received  the  name  it  bears,  no  one  knows;  but  the  vera- 
cious Knickerbocker  claims  to  have  made  discovery  of  the  facts  that  led  to  the  choosing 
of.  the  title.  "And  now  I  am  going  to  tell,"  says  he,  "a  fact  which  I  doubt  much  my 
mders  will  hesitate  to  believe ;   but,  if  they  do,  they  are  welcome  not  to  believe  a  word 


w 


be    more    pictu- 
in   air,   looking 
feci    above   tht 
lore   at   the   han 
re   so    bold    anc 
)f    great     hv\ii 
)ovc,    in    a   \vi 
X'    Mr.  Fenn  li 
It   he  looks  u|)i' 
ly  are  the  ou; 
I    md  scarred 


river,  we   cuiii* 


The    Hudson,    north   fruiii    I'eekskill. 


11     :!: 


1 8  PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 

in  this  whole  history,  for  nothing  which  it  contains  is  more  true.  It  must  be  known 
then,  that  tlie  nose  of  Anthony  the  trumpeter  was  of  a  very  lusty  size,  strutting  boldlv 
from  his  countenance,  like  a  mountain  of  Golconda,  being  sumptuously  bedecked  witli 
rubies  and  otiier  precious  stones — the  true  regalia  of  a  king  of  good  fellows,  which  jolh 
Bacchus  grants  to  all  who  bouse  it  heartily  at  the  flagon.  Now,  thus  it  happened  that 
bright  ant!  early  in  the  morning,  the  good  Anthony,  having  washed  his  burly  visage,  wa- 
leaning  over  the  (juarter-railing  of  the  galley,  contemplating  it  in  the  glassy  wave  below 
Just  at  this  moment  the  illustrious  Sun,  l)reaking  in  all  his  splendor  from  behind  a  higli 
bluff  of  the  Highlands,  did  dart  one  of  his  most  potent  beams  full  upon  the  refulijeni 
nose  of  the  sounder  of  brass,  the  reflection  of  which  shot  straightway  down  hissing  hoi 
into  the  water,  and  killetl  a  mighty  sturgeon  that  was  sporting  beside  the  vessel.  Thi- 
huge  monster,  being  with  infinite  labor  hoisted  on  board,  furnished  a  luxurious  repast  ti 
all  tlie  crew,  being  accounted  of  excellent  flavor,  excepting  about  the  wound,  where  it 
smacked  a  little  of  brimstone ;  and  this,  on  my  veracity,  was  the  first  time  that  cvi: 
sturgeon  was  eaten  in  these  parts  by  Christian  people.  When  the  astonishing  mirack 
became  known  to  I'etcr  Stuyvesant,  and  that  he  tasted  of  the  unknown  fish,  he,  as  nia, 
well  l)e  sup|)osed,  marvelled  exceedingly;  and,  as  a  monument  thereof,  he  gave  the  naim 
of  Anthony's  Nose  to  a  stout  promontory  in  the  neighborhood,  and  it  has  continued  t^ 
l)e  called   ,\nthony's  Nose  ever  since  that  time."  ; 

There  are  other  mountains  here  that  guard,  with  .Anthony's  Nose,  this  southcrr 
entrance.  Chief  among  them  is  the  grand  Donderberg,  jutting  sharply  into  the  liu 
from  the  shore  opposite  the  Nose,  and  a  mile  and  a  half  below  it  in  the  stream's  courst 
Around  this  Mountain  of  Thunder  the  summer  storms  collect ;  and  its  summit  is  In- 
known  to  those  who  have  seen  it  with  the  frown  of  a  cloud  sweeping  over  it,  and  ili 
sound  of  the  coming  tempest  already  heard  about  its  sides. 

We  are  in  the  very  land  of  Irving  now;  the  whole  region  is  |)eoi)led  with  ili- 
creatures  of  his  fancy.  Who  does  not  remember  the  "little  bulbous-buttomed  Duu 
goblin,  in  trunk-hose  and  sugar-loaf  hat,  with  a  speaking-trumpet  in  his  hand,  which,  thi 
sav,  keeps  the  Donderberg  .'*  They  declare,"  Irving  says  further  of  the  river-captains  an 
their  legiiul,  "that  they  have  heard  him,  in  stormy  weather,  in  the  midst  of  the  turnid; 
giving  orders,  in  Low-Dutch,  for  the  piping  up  of  a  fresh  gust  of  wind,  or  the  rattlir 
off  of  another  thunder-clap;  that  sometimes  he  has  been  seen  surrounded  by  a  crew  i 
little  imps,  in  broad  breeches  and  short  doublets,  tumbling  head-over-heels  in  the  lai 
and  mist,  and  playing  a  thousand  gambols  in  the  air,  or  buzzing  like  a  swarm  of  Hi 
about  Aiuhony's  Nose;  and  that,  at  such  times,  the  hurry-scurry  of  the  storm  \> 
always  greatest." 

Of  the  Sugar-I.oaf,   Bear  Mountain,  and    the    other    picturescjue    hills    that    form  i 
beautiful    southern    Highlands,    we    have    not    s|)ace    to    speak    at    length;    nor    havt 
looked  u|)on   our  guide's  oflice   as   imposing   u|)on   us   the   duty  of  ])oinfing  out  to  vu 


group 
of  th( 

.    i 


"-fft 


HIGHLANDS   AND    PALISADES    OF    THE    HUDSON. 


'9 


nust  be  known 
strutting  bokllv 
y  bedecked  witli 
lows,  which  jollv 
t  happened  i.liat.  1 
burly  visage,  \va- 
assy  wave  below 
m  behind  a  liigl 
pon  the  refulfjeii! 
down  hissing  hn: 
the  vessel.  Phi 
xurious  repast  ti 
wound,  where  ii 
;  time  that  cvr 
tonishing  mirael 
1  fish,  he,  as  mai 
le  gave  the  namti 
lias  continuid  i 

)se,  this   southerr' 
ply  into  the  riveij 
le  stream's  coursell 
ts  summit  is  l)es ; 
r  over  it,  and  tht 

pcojiled  witli  tli( 
i-buttomed    Dutd 

haiul,  which,  thei 
river-captains  an( 
St  of  the  turmoi 
lid,  or  the  rattlin. 
k-d  by  a  crew  > 
leels    in    the   i.Kt; 

a  swarm  of  flu 
jf   tiie   storm   w 

Is    tliat    form  i 
ill  ;    nor    hav 
iiling  out  to  VI 


each  several  feature  of  the  Highland  scenery.  Had  we  done  so,  we  should  be  open  to  a 
thousand  charges  of  neglect.  We  have  rather  floated  down  with  the  stream,  talking  with 
perhaps  some  garrulity  of  what  first  met  our  eyes ;  l)ut  if  we  were  to  yield  to  tempta- 
tion, and  wander   away    upon    the   shore,   or   penetrate   ever   so    little    inland,  we   should 


A   Misty   Morning  on   die   Hudson. 

sr  end  our  journey.      For  there  would  be  then  all  the  picturesque  creeks  that  tumble 

ling   to   the    river,  and  all  their  long,  wild  valleys,  to  follow  uj) ;   there  would  lie  the 

|ht  villages,  with  their  legends  and  their  scenes  of  our  old  iiistorv,  to  recall ;  and  '!iere 

|ld  be  the  hundred  thousand  points  of  view  to  visit  and  to  enjoy,  each  one  more  than 

last.      But  we   cannot   do   this;   and   we    must    make    our    farewell    to    the    Highlanil 


group,  with  Mr.  Fenn's  sketches  of  the  great  promontory,  and  go  on  'nto  the  new  scenes 
of  the  river  below. 

As  Newburg  at  the  northern  entrance  of  llie    Highlands,  so  lies  Peekskill    near   the 
southern.     Verv  pieturesfjuely  the  town  is  placed,  with    it'^   houses   lying   on    the    sloping 


i 


i: 


f'    ;:if 


i 


I 


,mt 


20 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


I'hc  i'alisades. 

the  high  terrace,  a  pleasant  country   meets  tlie   view,  where   along  the  river-banks  an 
little  country-places  that   make  homes  for  crowded-out  New-Yorkers. 


lower  shore,  and  i 
terraced  road  on  th 
steep  hill  -  side 
hind.  From  this  road  we  ;iir;i 
look  out  on  the  long  rciniii 
of  broad  and  open  river;  ;iii 
the  wilder  and  grander  asj>ai 
to  which  we  have  grown  m 
customed  disappear.  Vet 
quieter  scene  is  very  beaulili; 
and,    looking    southward    liJt 


vver  shore,  and  ii 
Traced  road  on  [I 
eep  hill  -  side  I- 
this  road  we  a^m 

the   lon^   reiicii- 

open  river;  an 
d  grander  asj)(ci 

have  grown  k 
ippear.  Yet  tl 
is  verjf  bcautilii: 

southward  iVyr 
iver-baiiks  are  tli 


1 1  fl  ■  '■' 


\  % 


n  ■ : 


lE' 


,,.,  ;j 


><^ 


^ 


X^ 


V 


V 


1il 


lit 


SiS 


N 

N 


V 


V 


I.* 


I   ' 


'W 


i  1 


:l 

i 

1  ■'! 
'1 

1 

' 

I  ',1 


tin 


H  I 


If 


I    . 


4  - 


HIGHLANDS   AND    PALISADES    OF    THE    HUDSON. 


2! 


And  now  follows  a  long  reach  of  river  of  which  our  title  strictly  takes  no  cog- 
gftce;  it  is  neither  in  the  Highlands,  nor  is  the  greater  part  of  it  bordered  by  the 
t^  picturesque   portion    of  the    Palisades;   yet  how  can  we  pass  it  entirely  by  without 

^Ord even  we  who  are  seeking  that  which  is  by  nature    beautiful,  and   have    nothing, 

the  stern  limitations  of  our  duty,  to  do  with  story  or  rem'niscence  or  manifold  attrac- 
|ons  of  association  ?  We  cannot  pass  by  it  without  at  least  a  word  or  two  ;  for  here, 
the  part  of  the  river  to  which  we  are  coming,  are  scenes  that  every  one  knows  by 
iieart.  We  do  not  mean  to  speak  of  Stony  Point,  where  gallant  Anthony  Wayne  led 
his  men  so  well  through  the  July  midnight  in  1779;  or  of  Treason  Hill,  where  Arnold's 
jlans  were  matured,  and  where  Andr»5  took  the  papers  that  betrayed   it  ;   or  of  the   hun- 

other  historic  localities  that  lie  hereabout ;  for  we  will  not  weary  the  voyager  again 
Cith  long  rehearsal  of  history,  or  call  him  away  from  his  journey.  But,  when  we  speak 
af  scents  that  every  one  knows  by  heart,  we  mean  those  that  have  been  touched  by 
Irving's  i)en,  and  those  among  which  he  himself  lived  and  wrote. 

For  now  we  a]ii)roach  the  Tappan  Zee,  and  that  whole  region  of  the  river  and  its 
vtSixCf  which  is  ahvavs  connected  with  the  romance  and  the  legendary  lore  that  lie  created 
for  it.  And  below  is  his  own  home  of  Sunnysidc,  standing  in  classic  ground  for  all 
Americans.  Who  can  pass,  a  little  above  Tarrytown,  the  siiore  beyond  which  lies  Sleepy 
Hollow,  or  sail  past  tiie  l)anks  of  wiiich  every  point  suggests  some  memory  of  the 
sunny-lu  artc'd  writer,  and  not  be  glad  at  the  tlioughts  they  bring  into  his  mind?  Every 
thing  tliaf   Irving  has  touched  he  has  turned  into  something  better  than  gold. 

Bui,  while  we  have  looked  only  at  the  eastern  shore  in  this  part  of  the  Hudson's 
course— the  eastern  shore,  to  wiiich  its  associations  irresistibly  draw  the  traveller's  first 
glance*^  the  Palisades  have  already  begun,  and  have  grown  into  an  unbroken,  massive 
wall  upc  11  the  western  bank.  In' strict  truth,  and  geogra|)hically,  their  great  escarpments 
begin  in  the  ncighl)orhood  of  Haverstraw,  and  run  south  along  the  river-i)aiik  ibr  thirty 
miles  or  more;  but  the  noblest  part  of  their  wall- of  vertical  and  columned  rock  is  of 
much  l»  ss  e.xtenl.  It  is  that  porticm  which  we  call  tin-  noblest  in  which  tliev  rise,  in 
rude  and  niicir.'d  but  uninterrupted  line,  to  the  height  of  tlinr  hundred  anil  even  live 
hundred  leet,  attaining  their  greatest  magnitude  in  the  enormous  and  jutting  buttress  that 
thrusts  itself  into  the  stream  nearly  opposite  Sing  Sing. 

For  miles  on  either  side  of  this,  their  giant  ridge,  like  a  natumi  fortress,  lies  between 
the  river  and  the  bright  and  fertile  region  on  its  west.  Here  and  there  the  wall  is  cut 
by  deep  iiid  narrow  ravines,  and  through  such  fissures  in  the  cliffs  are  gained  some  of 
the  jnosi  perfect  views  of  river  an<l  landscape  that  have  greeted  us  in  all  our  course. 
It  it  through  siieh  rifts  in  the  rock  that  one  sees  the  stream  Ivmg  so  far  below  that  it 
oeeim  alinust  ill  another  world,  and  looks  across  into  the  blue  distance  in  the  east  as  he 
migte  loi'k  out  liom  15  gp-at  and  magical  window  that  gave  a  glimpse  into  an  entirely 
diflcftnt  life,      io-  nothing  could  present  sharper  contrasts  than  do  the  two  regions  sej)- 


^^!^ 


23 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


arated    by    this   natural    wall.     On    its   west    lies   the    quietest    farming    coiim 
ith  its  people  leading  simple,  uneventful,  pastoral  lives — people  to  whom 
busy  towns   ai-d    the    noises   of  the   city   seem    as   far   away  as  if  the  v 
isted   only  to  be  read  about  and  wondered   over.      But    i  »ii  i 
-•  eastern  side,  in  the  places  along  the  banks  of  the  river,  in  l\, 

kind  of  dwelling,  from  great  country-scat  to  smallest  sulun! 
cottage,  is  found  a  class  utterly  different.  These  are  thcv  ; 
chief  part  of  whose  days  is  passed  "  in  town,"  who  have  cir 
out,  or  been  driven  out,  to  the  beauty  of  the  country  for  r 
and  a  little  freshness  and  invigoration  in  their  homes,  al  b 
All  over  the  Hudson's  banks,  from  Newburg  to  New  Vo 
these  people  cluster  in  villages  and  little  cities,  trying  hard 
bring  into  the  whole  region  the  bustle  of  their  town-lite,  1 
gaining  good,  in  spite  of  themselves,  from  their  surroundiiiirs. 

But  there  is  more  to  be  gained  tn 
the  summit  of  the  Palisades  than  an  u; 
look  at  the   VT  \spccts  of  the  hum,! 

ty  about    their   base.      High    up    upon  t 
crest    of    the    great    escarpment    one   ir, 
stand    antl    look    far  away  into  the  last, 
see    the    most    glorious    sunsets    that   n 
changed    the    sky    to   gold    ami    fire. 
the  north  lie  the  Highlands 
have    passed,   stretched    out 
noblest    |)anorama  for  his  vii 
anil  to  the  south  the  rivci  Ik 
on  in  a  broader  stream,  until 
its  eastern  siff       .'h    city  Imi: 
and    the   strci'  igcs  it^ 

|)ect,  and  |,asi^.-  !  ..•.ein 
crowded  shores  that  sind 
atros  it  the  noisy  Ihundti 
their  busy  life;  and  Pali  i 
and  rockv  hills,  and  long  n.it 
of  still  strc!  TJ,  and  green  [l 
ant  l>anks,  make  a  sudden 

.^•■■^  ^.-u  '     vc-if^-fr*"? as  the  Iluoson   swec|>s   i  • ' 

and  tiuietly  down  to  the    i. 

Al    ll)('    Kiinl   (if   Ihr    ralisadcu. 


it    farming    countij 
leople  to  whom  t| 
iway  as  if  they 
over.      But   on  r^ 
f  the  river,  in  cvt^ 
0  smallest  sulimi 
rhese   are    thiv 
m,"  who  have  cdr 
le    eountry    for  r 
lieir  homes,  al  li; 
irg   to    New   Yi, 
ties,  trying   hard 
their   town-lite,  I 
leir  surroundinjis. 
to  be  gained   fr 
isades  than   an  u 
lects  of  the  iitini.! 
High    up    u|)()ii  : 
carpment    one   it, 
'ay  into  the  east 
sunsets    that   t 
;()ld    and    tire, 
e  the   1  lighlaiul'. 
St  retailed    luii 
)rania  for  his  w 
•;outh  the  river  Hi 
idtr  Stream,  until 
!       :«    city  Ik; 
iges  it-' 
IS,.-    1     reen 
)res    tiiat    send 
noisy  thundd 
ife ;    and    iVili 
Is,  and  long  n-.h 
n,  and  green,  pi 
lake  a  sudtlen 
on    sweeps   ^nii 
(Viwn  to  the  mm 


PHILADELPHIA    AND    ITS    SUBURBS. 


WITH    II. LUSTRATIONS    HV    ORANVII.I.K    PERKINS. 


Cbeatnut -Street   Bridge,   on  the  Schuylkill. 

THl".  Ouai«r  City!  Utile  did  William  Peiin  think,  as  he  stepped  out  of  his  hoat 
U|)iiM  the  grassv  margin  of  Dock  Creek,  that  inemorahle  morning  of  16S2,  and 
walked,  with  mien  sedate  and  lulitting,  along  tiie  path  that  led  to  the  jjUasant  hut  soli- 
tary hostcirv  of  the  Blue  Anchor,  his  mind  in  travail  with  the  scheme  of  a  IMiiladel- 
phia  thoMi  to  he  founded  among  the  "coves  and  springs  and  lofty  lands"  of  Coaipian- 
noc— little,  hevond  peradventure,  did  he  think  of  the  vast  |)()ssil)ilities  of  growth  and 
chanpw  that  ni'ght  transform  and  in  one  sense  alienate,  in  a  future  mote  or  less  remote, 
this  child  of  his  ambition  and  his  hope!  Sagacious  and  far-.seeing  as  he  undoubtedly 
was,  it  suiely  never  occurred  to  Iiim,  sitting-  as  in  those  days  even  "frientls"  did  not 
disdain  to  sit — in  the  sanded  parlor  of  the  Blue  Anchor,  and  looking,  perchance,  in  a 
pruphtii-  uiuiid  .if  mind,  along  the  winding  shores  of  the  creek,  and  on  what  were 
then  tin  uplands  upon  the  Inther  bank  of  the  great  river  in  whidi  the  creek  was 
lost-^un  ly    it   could   not   have    ha|i|)cned    that    iiis    stdter    fancy    pictured    so    great    and 


ti 


\\ 


U'x^\.jI  '-•.Km:,  -ujhing  up  ffofn  lndtp«nd*nc«  Htll.  Chtfftnut  Stmt  loohlnc  down  ffom  Ninth  ' 

bCENES     IN     PHILADELPHIA. 


PHILADELPHIA    AND    ITS   SUBURBS. 


25 


h  Street,    looking  up, 


''oni   Ninth   Stivvt 


so  vHvondcrful  a  metamorphosis  as  that  which  has  at  this  day  tmnsfigured  the  entire 
IWipscape  into  the  likeness  of  the  actual  Philadelphia  !  The  scope  of  his  forecast  may 
be  gauged  by  the  limit  of  his  design.  He  planned  a  "town"  of  thirty  streets,  crossing 
each  other  at  right  angles,  nine  east  and  west,  and  one-and-twenty  north  and  southward 
trending— the  former  serving  only  as  highways  from  shore  to  shore  of  the  two  streams 
that  held  the  "lofty  lands"  in  their  embrace,  with  no  thought,  it  wouH  seem,  of  ven- 
turing across  these  watery  barriers,  but  the  latter  capable  of  indefinite  extension,  sub- 
ject, of  course,  to  the  contingent  rights  and  privileges  of  neighboring  "-settlements." 
Hampered  by  the  memories  and  traditions  of  the  Old-World  towns  and  cities,  he  in- 
flicted upon  the  future  metropolis  of  the  Keystone  State  the  same  misery  that  has 
stayed  or  stunted  the  complete  and  comely  development  of  nearly  all  the  older  towns 
and  cities  on  this  continent — the  misery  of  narrow  thoroughfares  and  scanty  spaces,  blind 
alleys,  dark  courts,  and  a  general  inadequacy  of  breathing-room  and  free  circulation,  to 
say  Nothing — though  a  ^rcat  deal  should  be  said — of  the  lost  opportunities  for  architectu- 
ral adornment,  and  the  refinement  of  the  pojuilar  mind  by  objects  of  beauty  and  grand- 
eur placed  constantly  before  them  in  their  goings  up  and  down  the  high-  and  by-ways 
of  dailv  toil  and  traflic.  Mr.  Penn  perhaps  thouglil  to  remedy  this  to  some  extent  by 
layi'ig  Ills  city  out  with  a  fair  and,  to  a  mathematical  mind,  satisfying  rectangularity ; 
and*  \  ii'wed  from  a  thoioughly  Gradgrindian  stand-jioint,  a  city  whose  streets  are  inter- 
sected liy  each  other  at  invariable  right  angles,  and  consc(|uently  traverse  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  land  in  undeviating  straight  lines,  is  possibly  the  most  comfortable 
and  coiniMiienl  of  cities.  IJut,  looking  from  a  picturesque  point  of  view,  such  an  ar- 
rangement is  very  unfortunate,  and  a  wholesale  sacrifice  of  beauty  to  utility.  Though 
the  seet  to  which  the  eminent  founder  of  Philadelphia  belonged  was  not  popularly  be- 
lieved Id  iiave  much  sympathy  with  the  allurements  of  the  beautiful,  either  in  Nature 
or  art,  \et  it  will  not  be  denied  tlmt  there  were,  and  are,  many  pictures(iue  features  in 
the  lanilscape  of  the  spot  chosen  by  him  for  the  site  of  his  city  of  fraternal  love.  Here 
was  a  large  and  pleasantly-undulating  plain,  rising  gently,  north  and  westward,  to  a  un- 
try;*of  heavily-timbered  hills,  and  rich  uplands  pregnant  with  the  promise  of  future 
haiAsts,  margined  for  many  a  mile  by  the  broad,  swift,  deep-Howing  Delaware,  and  the 
shatfbw  r,  slower,  but  more  beautiful  and  purer,  Schuylkill  twin  channels  for  an  appar- 
ently illimitable  commerce,  and  an  e(iually  exhaustless  supply  of  the  vital  element  that 
is  net!  ssary  to  the  existence  of  this  commerce  and  of  the  life  that  makes  it  possible — a 
plain,  (no,  with  further  accidents  of  beauty  along  its  borders  in  the  shape  of  rocky  <lell 
and  shadowy  ravine,  hints  of  mountain  and  gorge,  and  all  the  fascinating  marvels  of 
torrent,  cascade,  and  rapid,  reproduced  in  miniature,  so  to  speak,  U|m  n  the  romantic 
banks  ,111(1  in  the  sylvan  stream  of  the  weird  and  wmding  VVissaliiekon.  "  It  seemed," 
im'«ed,  .IS  Penn  himself  said,  the  very  place  "appointed  for  a  town;"  and  surely  the 
phtnoMicna  of  its  growth  have  gone  far  to  jnove  the  wisdom  of   his  selection. 


i^^^S^ 


26 


riC  I  URESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


t::|, 


r^ 


r. 
IN 

1^' 


!  ■ 


!ir: 


m 


Towct    »ml    Siceiile,    I iiUc|)i:nilciK'(.-    Hall, 


The   Philadelphia   ot   W 
Ham  Penn  was  mcorpuraiid 
1701  ;    and    for   a    numlm 
years    thereafter    the    tcidcn 
of   its   growth  was   in  a  hitct 
direction,    upon     or     near  t; 
shore    of   the    Delaware,   nor 
and      southward      rather     th 
westward    toward    the    Schu 
kill.      This  disposition  to  di: 
to    the    margin    of   the   watt 
over  which    the  adventurer  h 
sailed    from    the    Old    to   i[ 
New  Land  is  natural,  and  w 
ticcable     in     nearly    ever\'  j 
stance  of  the  early  settknicir 
in    this    country.      It  was  vj 
cially  so  in   Philadelphia,  wlii 
hotii    the    business    a'nd    sol 
life    of   tile    cit)-  long  clustcn 
in     the     streets     l)ordenn;j; 
abutting    upon    the     Del;i\v,i: 
leaving    most   of  the    u|)|i(i 
western    part    of    the    city-pl 
either  in  the  condition  kiin 
to  real-estate  dealers  as  "  iiiii: 
proved,"   or    (»ccu|)ied    as   sm 
tarms      and      suburban      vili 
ILven  as  late  as  the  first  (|ii, 
ter     of     the     present     ceniu 
many  of  the  finest  private  n 
dences    in    the    city    weiv 
Front    Street,    which    was  1' 
fust     street    opened    by    IV; 
and    lan    nearly  due  nortii  .1: 
south  along  the  course   ol  1 
river.      Some    of   these    renu 
to    this   day  the  habitations . 
wealthy  citizens,  though  ji'sil. 


by 
usu 


PHILADELPHIA    AND    ITS   SUBURBS. 


27 


,4  by  the   encroachments   of  toil   and   traffic,   and   their   river-side   pleasures   and    privileges 

was  incorporated  -  C  ,  ,  •  ,   ,  .  ,  .    .  1  1  r.  u 

•  usurped  by  unsightly  anp  unsavory  wharves,  crowded  avenues,  and  lotty  warehouses. 

There  are,  of  crarse,  but  few  historical  monuments  left  standing  of  the    earlier    days 


after    the    tendend 
'th  was   in  a  later, 
ipon     or     near  tf 
le    Delaware,   non 
kvard      rather     th; 
:)ward    the    Schii; 
disposition  to  dir 
rgin    of   the   watt 
the  adventurir  h 
the     Old    t(i   I 
is  natural,  and  n 
nearly    ever\'  1 
le  early  settleniLi; 
intry.      It  was  si 
Philadelphia,  ulu  , 
usiness    a'nd    sm 
city  long  elustd- 
cots     bordciiniT 
on    the     Delaw.i: 
t  of  the   upper 
of    the    citv-|il 
condition  km. 
dealers  as  "  iim: 
occupied    as   sm 
suburban      vi[ 
as   liie   first    (|ii. 
present     ceiim 
linest  private  u 
u-    city     were 
,    which    was  r 
)pi'ned     by    IV;, 
ri\    due  north  ;i: 
lie   course    ol  V 
y if   I hese    rcnii 
the  habitations 
lis,  though  ji'stli 


"^  of  Philadelphia.  The  most  venerable,  perhaps,  and  one  of  the  most  interesting,  is  Christ 
Church,  in  Second  Street,  above  Market,  which  dates,  in  its  present  construction,  as  far 
back  as  1727,  two  years  before  the  laying  of  the  comer-stone  of  the  State-House,  since 
memorable  as  Independence  Hall.  Hemmed  in,  as  this  stately  pile  now  is  on  all  sides, 
by  the  obtrusive  and  inharmonious  aggregations  of  brick  and  mortar  devoted  to  the 
prosaic  purposes  of  trade,  it  may  be  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  for  the  artist  to  fiml  a 
point  of  view  from  which  its  picturesque  features  can  be  brought  into  full  relief;  but 
from  its  belfry  the  visitor  at  least  beholds  a  panorama  of  land  and  water  whicii  will  well 
repay  the  fatigue  of  ascent.  The  broad  expanse  of  the  Delaware,  with  all  its  varied 
aspects  of  commercial  highway  and  grove-fringed,  villa-bordered  stream,  ilows  between 
its  level  banks  for  many  a  mile  beneath  him.  Eastward  he  looks  far  across  the  river  to 
the  sandy  reaches  of  New  Jersey,  with  Camden  and  Gloucester  in  the  foreground,  and 
an  indefinite  ,'ista  of  sombre  pine-groves  beyond. 

To  the  south  his  roving  eye  will  first  be  caught  by  the  old  Navy-Yard,  with  its 
ark-like  ship-houses,  its  tiers  of  masts  and  docks,  and  the  green  oases  of  its  officers' 
quarters ;  while  still  farther  away,  wh'-re  the  Schuylkill  and  Delaware  meet  on  their  way 
to  the  sea,  low  and  dark  on  the  horizon  lies  League  Island^ — the  Navy-\'ard  of  the 
future. 

If  now,  he  turn  his  back  on  the  river,  the  entire  city  and  its  fiir-reaching  suburbs 
are  spread  as  a  maj)  before  him  from  the  mouth  of  the  Schuylkill,  on  the  south,  to  the 
extremest  limit  of  (lerinantown,  on  the  north,  and  westward,  far  beyond  the  semi-rural 
avenues  of  West  Philadelphia,  Mantua,  and  Ilestonville,  all  of  which  are  comprised  in 
the  city  of  to-day.  A  similar  panoramic  view  will  open  before  him  who  may  gaze  from 
the  belli y-gallery  of  Independence  Hall;  and  a  third,  and  even  more  picturestiuc  overlook, 
is  obtained  from  the  summit  of  Girard  College,  which  is  itself  one  of  the  most  mag- 
nificent nonuments  of  individual  benevolence  in  this  country.  The  buildings  devoted 
to  ^is  noble  charity  stand  upon  high  ground,  in  the  miilst  of  a  park-like  plot  of  forty- 
five  acres,  stretching  along  what  was  once  called  the  Ridge  Road,  but  iKnv  elevated 
to  the  more  sounding  title  of  Ridge  Avenue,  in  the  northwestern  part  of  the  city. 
The  princi|)al  and  central  structure,  containing  the  »,,)llege  proper  (the  other  buildings 
being  chielly  dormitories  and  offices),  is  a  massive  Corinthian  temple,  of  white  marble,  and 
is  jowly  regarded  as  the  best  reproduction  of  pure  Greek  architecture  in  this  count  rv- 
The-purjiose  and  history  of  this  institution  are  too  well  and  widely  known  to  need 
further  recapitulation. 

Most  of  the  streets  of  I'hiladelphia  are,  unhappily,  narrow,  and  their  lectangularity 
and  straightness   offend   the   artistic   «vc   as   well   as  mar  the   architectural    effect   of  the 


i(  1 


FOUNTAINS     IN      I'H  I  LA  DEUPH  I  A. 


whol 


I, 


•.r^ 


:,^:-r^- 


xv«fr^ 


PHILADELPHIA    AND    ITS    SUBURBS. 


29 


imposing  structures  erected  upon  them.  There  are,  however,  on  almost  all  her 
hl^ways  noble  and  graceful  edifices  constructed  by  public  or  private  munificence  and 
taste,  massive  temples  -«<■  charity,  of  religion,  of  industry,  anc'  of  art,  which  go  far  to 
redeem  the  stiffness  and  monotony  of  the  general  [)lan  of  the  city.  Something  about 
the  more  notable  buildings,  public  and  'private,  may  not  be  wholly  inappropriate  even  in 
a  picturesque  article,  the  less  so  as  some  o;'  them  are  intimately  connected  with  the  his- 
tory and  traditions  (which  are  always  picturesque)  of  the  place.  So,  having  left  the  "  dim, 
religious  light "  that  marks  the  sacred  precincts  of  Christ  Church,  let  us  go  on  to  Chest- 
nut Street,  and  pause  at  the  State-House,  with  a  reverent  recognition  of  its  claims, 
to  notice  above  those  of  more  recent  and  more  ornate  constructions. 

The  edifice  is  but  two  stories  in  height,  and  built  of  simple  brick,  but  its  associa- 
tions have  given  it  an  interest  scarcely  less  world-wide  and  thrilling  than  that  attaching 
to  iteny  structure,  however  magnificent  in  size  or  symmetry,  throughout  Christendom.  It 
is  surmounted  by  a  steeple,  in  which  was  hung  the  great  and  glorious  bell,  with  its  pro- 
phetic inscription,  verified  little  more  than  a  century  after  its  first  echoes  woke  the  good 
burghers  of  the  royal  province  of  Pennsylvania,  when  the  clangorous  pa>an  was  pro- 
claimed of — "  Liberty  throughout  the  land,  unto  all  the  inhabitants  thereof"  Beneath 
its  roof  was  pronounced  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  in  the  same  chamber,  a 
few  years  afterward,  the  system  of  government  wl.ich  culminated  in  the  establishment  of 
the  Great  Republic  was  discussed  and  adopted. 

Market  Street  is  the  great  central  highway  of  traffic,  foreign  and  domestic,  and  is 
chiefly  remarkable  for  its  handsome  warehouses  and  mercantile  depots,  its  width,  and  its 
turmoil.  The  traveller  in  search  of  the  picturesque  will  not  care  to  linger  amid  its  pro- 
saic bustle.  Neither  will  he  find  much  to  airest  his  eye  on  Arch  Street,  save  a  graceful 
spire  here  and  there ;  but  he  will  be  struck  by  the  re|)ose  of  the  street  as  contrasted 
with  the  rattle  and  hurry  of  adjacent  highways,  and  with  the  air  of  jilaeid  respectability 
that  distinguishes  the  staid  denizens  of  that  <]uiei  avenue.  It  was,  and  to  some  extent 
still  is,  a  favorite  street  for  "  Friends'"  residences,  and  jKutakes,  both  in  its  architecture 
and  its  human  circulation,  of  the  |)eculiar  plainness  and  primness  of  the  primitive  Quakers. 

The  handsomer  private  residences  are  chielly  in  tiie  western  and  northwestern  parts 
of  the  city.  West  l^hiladelphia,  across  the  Schuylkill,  is  full  of  elegant  villas  and  taste- 
jHful  cottages.  The  western  part  of  Walnut,  Chestnut,  Arch,  Spruce,  and  Pine  Streets, 
■  is  wholly  occupied  by  what  we  sometimes  hear  called  palatial  mansions ;  and  the  spacious 
and  noble  boulevard  of  Broad  Street  rims  for  miles  between  the  dwellings  of  the  lich, 
built  of  every  variety  of  stone  and  in  every  conceivable  (or  inconceivable)  style  of 
arcHftecture,  and,  in  many  instances,  further  adorned  by  lawns  and  gardens  of  most  elab- 
on^  finish  and  fruitfulness. 

The  nun.L-rous  spots  of  shade  and  greenery  known  as  "squares"  are  pleasant  anil 
wbokssome  features  of  this  city.     They  were  part  of  the  original  plan  of   Penn,  and  hav- 


30 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


ing   had   the   advantage   of  time,  are    full    of  noble   and   venerable   trees,  some   of  whij 
were  denizens  of  the  virgin   forest  that  gloomed  the  soil  on  which    they  still   stand, 
the    centre    of    Franklin    S(juare — the    largest    and  one    of    the    most    beautiful    of   tin, 
within  the  city — there  is  a  hne  fountain,  with  a  number  of  jets  falling  into  a  large  ba^i 
upon  whose  clear  surface  two  or  more  swans  were  wont  to   glide,  much    to    the    (Iclii^r, 


1'l 


:;]!? 


i 


'    11 


11 
j 
I'M 


Navy-Yard. 

of  the  children;  i)ut  these  graceful  water-fowl  have  vanished,  having,  perhaps.  I 
removed  to  the  broader  waters  of  I'ainnount  Park.  The  thirsty  wayfarer,  by-tln 
whether  man  or  beast,  will  find  no  lack  of  fountains  whereat  to  (juencii  his  tliiiM 
Phii  ulelphia.  There  arc  scores  of  these  grateful  drinking-) daces  on  the  high- and  b\-w 
of  the  city  and  suburbs,  some  of  them,  as  may  be  seen  by  the  accompanying  \\\\\< 
tion,  not  without  a  |)ictures(iuc  t)r  artistic  beauty  and  fitness  in   their  desigr.,  which   i 


\   I    . 


PHILADELPHIA    AND    ITS    SUBURBS. 


3> 


ees,  some  of  whi 
hey  still   staiK 
beautiful    of 
y  into  a  large  bas 
uch    to    the    delii 


i^/^A- 


ing,  pcrhaj^s,  I 
wayfarer,  l)\-tlii 
ui-nch  his  thiw 
hiph-  and  liv-v. 
()in|)anyin^  illu- 
(lisitjr.,  which    : 


not  render  the  water  less  refreshing  or  the  pilgrim  less  appreciative.  These  street  foun- 
tains are  due  .o  the  humane  and  enlightened  labors  and  taste  of  a  few  gentlemen, 
p,  in  1869,  formed  themselves  into  a  Fountain  Society  for  this  beneficent  object,  and, 
itkftr  through  their  personal  and  pecuniary  efforts  and  assistance,  or  by  the  influence  of 
icir  example  upon  others,  these  well-springs  of  wholesome  refresament  have  be  n  offered 
the  parched  throats  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  their  fellow-creatures. 

In  several  instances  an  intelligent  advantage  has  been  taken — notably  in  the  Park 
and  upon  some  of  the  pretty  roads  about  the  skirts  of  the  city — of  the  natural  acci- 
dents of  scenery  in  the  selection  of  the  spot  and  the  character  of  the  fountain,  and  the 
result  is  picturesque,  and  in  harmony  with  the  landscape  and  associations.  It  were  to  be 
wished  that  an  equally  enlightened  taste  had  been  displayed  in  every  instance ;  but  as 
some  of  these — shall  we  say  works  of  art.> — have  been  the  free  gift  of  individual  cit^i- 
zens  (and,  therefore,  not  to  be  viewed  with  the  "  critic's  eye  '*),  there  is  here  and  there  an 
unfortunate  specimen  of  that  ]ieculiar  taste  supposed  to  belong  to  the  great  "V^eneering" 
and  "Podsnaj)"  families.  Under  the  circumstances,  however,  it  would  be  uncharitable  to 
seem  severely  critical,  and  these  blots  upon  the  artistic  perspicacity  of  the  Fountain  So- 
ciety shall  not,  therefore,  be  more  particularly  alluded  to  herein. 

^^p.rt  and  science  have  received  careful  attention  in  Philadelphia.  For  many  years 
the  quiet  and  modest  rooms  of  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  in  Chestnut  Street,  were 
the  resort  of  art-loving  citizens  and  curious  strangers.  Here  several  of  the  huge  canvases 
of  Benjamin  West  and  Rembrandt  Peale  were  enshrined  in  state,  and  received  the  hom- 
age of  those  who  deemed  them  superlative  works  of  art,  the  finest  of  which  the  country 
could  boast.  Here  the  annual  exhibitions  of  the  works  of  Philadelphia's  artists  are  held, 
and  in  the  basement  beneath  are  casts  of  the  famou  -  statues  of  anti(iuity,  arranged  in 
sepulchral  rows.  All  of  these  treasures,  it  is  believed,  will  in  time  be  transferred  to  the 
new  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  which  will  be  erected  on  an  appropriate  site  in  another 
portion  of  the  city. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  buildings  in  Philadelphia  is  the  new  Masonic  Temple, 
just  erected  on  the  corner  of  Broad  and  Filbert  Streets.  It  is  constructed  of  granite, 
dressed  at  the  quarry  and  brought  to  the  site  all  ready  for  immediate  use.  As  a  piece 
of  architecture  it  is  a  curious  imitatit)n  of  the  round  and  pointed  styles  of  the  middle 
ages — the  outlines,  the  tower,  and  certain  other  features,  suggesting  the  (jothic,  while  the 
windows,  the  fixyade,  and  the  minuter  details,  are  thorough!)  Saxon  in  character.  Thus, 
the  deeply-recessed  porch,  with  its  dog-tooth  ornaments  and  round  arches,  might  be 
copied  from  one  of  the  old  Saxon-built  abl  ys  of  England ;  while  the  tower,  adorned  in 
a  more  elaborate  style,  only  needs  a  spire  to  be  Gothic  in  general  effect  if  no"  in  de- 
tail Inside  the  Temple  tliere  are  various  halls,  built  in  the  C'orinthian,  Doric,  and 
other  styles,  so  as  to  be  in  consonance  with  various  phases  of  masonic  practices. 

If  the    Delaware    River  is  the   source  of  commercial   prosperity  to   Philadelphia,  the 


32 


riC  TURliSQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


Y 


4k 


% 


i.i." 


f  I  i  .1! 


i!' 


^^I I 


Schuylkill    offers    to    its  ci! 

zens     their     most     diliirhf  '^ 

out-of-door     iiloasures.      T 

Delaware,    broad,    swilt,  a 

majestic,  is   of  utilitariiin  V 

efit.      The   Schuylkill,  nam 

winding,  and  picturesque,  p. 

ifies  the  sense  of  beauty. 

is     at    Fairmount     that   • 

charm   of  the    Schuylkill 

gins.     Below  this  point  thr 

is    not    much    in    the   stn 

calculated  to  interest  the 

itor,  though  the  graceful  i: 

arches  of  the  Chestnut-Sf 

Bridge  \  ".'.   attract   atteni, 

as    being    a    work    in    \vt 

engineering   skill    has    eft 

ually     availed     itself    of 

ur\'ed    lines    in   whicli  ii 

claimed    that    beauty    dw: 

Up  to  tills  bridge  the  lat; 

vessels    may    approach,  t: 

tapering    masts    and   irrai 

yards     presenting     a    jiic: 

which,    in     a     bright,   sm 

day,  might  have  won  the 

miration    and    employd 

pencil  of  Turner.    Tht'  * 

at     this    point     is    usual! 

busy   one.     Noisy  steanw 

light    sail-boats,   scows,  a 

boats,    and    other    kind^ 

craft,   crowd   the   stream, 

impart  that    life   and  viv; 

peculiar    to     the     water' 

of    a    flourishing    connm 

city.       At    night,    wluii 

bridge  is  lighted  by  lov 


m 


1    offers    to    its  cr 
:ir     most     dcliirhi 
ir     pleasures. 
,    broad,    swift, 
is   of  utilitarian 
e   Schuylkill,  iiani 
and  picturesque,  {tJ 
sense  of  beautv. 
"aimiount     that 
f  the    Schuylkill 
;lo\v  this  point  ij] 
nuch    in    the   stn 
1  to  interest  the 
igh  the  graceful 

the  Chestnut-St! 

".I  attract  attcnt: 
r  a  work  in  wk 
ng  skill  has  cti; 
■ailed  itself  of 
lines  in  which 
that  beauty  dw 
liis  bridge  the  i;ir, 
may     approach,  t: 

masts  and  grai 
resenting  a  pia 
n  a  bright,  su! 
;ht  have  won  ihe 

and  employed 
F  Turner.     Tiic  ^f 

point  is  usual! 
e.  Noisy  steam-! 
1-boats,  scows,  tj 
ind  other  kind* 
3wd  the  stream, 
hat    life   and  viv 

to  the  water-: 
:)urishing  conimi 
U  night,  when 
5  lighted  by  row 


! 

1.. 
ii 

:l 

i       _ 

•    i 

i 

i 

1 

■k 

1   ' 

1 

,1! 

rf 


34 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


gas -lamps,    and    the    itij; 
and  cordage  loom  up  in ; 
dim    moonlight,    the    so 
assumes    a    pictures(|Uf  , 
ment    whicli     it     dois   [ 
possess   by  daylight.     JlH 
the  bridge,  on   either   sin 
may    be    seen     the    uutlir 
of    huge     derricks,    used 
K)ading  coal-barges.     Ik', 
c.ir.     be      discerned     vmj. 
spires  and    towers,   and  ■ 
cross  -  surmounted    doim 
tiie   Roman  Catholic  Cai 
dral  on  Logan  Square.    \ 
other  bridge — knf)\vn  as 
South  -  Street      Bridge -^ 
building      in     this     vicii] 
and     will      afford      aiioi 
much-needed  means  of  u 
inunication     between     tli 
populous  anil  busy  slum- 
Fairmount  Water- Wd 
have    been    for    many   v 
oni'      of      ti\e       reidi^ii 
"sights"      of      lMiil;ultl|'l 
but  till'  great    imiirovini 
recentlv  made  in  their  v: 
itv     have     transformed 
resort  into  one  of    I  in  i; 
charming      pleasure  -  yati; 
in  the  world.     Twenlv  \ 
ago      "  I'airnuiunt "      \\v 
only  tiie    buildings  in  \\i 
the    machinery  used   in  > 
pKing       l'hiladel|ihi,i 
pi.re     water     was     tiuii 
and  the  little  pleasure->rit« 
and  resiTVuir   lying   luaij 


I  i  1! 


# 


ips,    and    the    mj 
dage  loom  up  in 
oonlifiht,    tin-    Sir 

a    pictures(|iie  bM 

k'hich     it     docs   lyS 

by  daylight.     I},],    ' 

Ige,  on    cither   sli»^ 

seen     the    outlin  '>; 

L-     derricks,    used  ..S 

coal-barges.    Ikvfj   ' 

discerned     vurio 

nd    towers,    and  t 

irniounted    domu 

man  Catholic  Catb  1 

Logan  Squari'.    \   , 

idge — known  as  t  ,^ 

Street      Bridge  ~m 

;      in     this     vicini:  •» 

ill       attord      anotk 

•eded  means  of  txtJ 

ion     between    tbrM 

s  and  busy  sh(iu\   - 

nount  VVater-\V(i'   ' 

en    for    manv   VG.,*i 

'  1)1 

the       recoirnii^) 

of     IMiiladeli 

great    ini|)rovenii 

niadi'  in  llieir  vkj:^ 

(•     transformed   i:  j^l 

to  one  ot    till'  li' 

J     pleasure  -  j^arde^ 

orld.      rwenl\  \i, 

'  linnount  "      nw 

buildings  in  \vtii| 
hinerv  used    in 

I'hiladelphi.i 
ltd      was     enckis 
ill  If  ideasure-jfnm 
i\nir    lying   near  I 


ID 

tc 

0 

K 
UI 
h 
< 

Z 

D 
O 

X 

E 

< 


•    '^      r 

hi    \'  A 

1 


-I  I.    !      I' 


t    1 


36 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


1  * 


Now,  the    vast   expanse    of   Fairmount    l^ark   is    included    in    the   jjeneric  term,  and  4 
might  be  pleasantl)-  spent  in  investigating  the  attractions  of  this  charming  spot. 

As  early  as   1800  the  necessity  of  providing  for  Philadelphia  a  su])ply  of  water  grea> 
than    that    offeretl    by  the  wells  and  cisterns  \\as  recognized ;    i)ut  it  was  not    until   \% 
that  the  scheme  of  elevating  and  turning   into    it    the    river    Schuylkill,  by  means  ofi 
immense  dam,  was  determined  upon.      The  principal   features  of  this   plan    are   the  % 
struction  of  a  dam,  over  fourteen  hundred  feet  long,  which  backs  the  water  up  the  rii^ 
about  si.\   miles,  creating  a  power  suflicient  to  raise  into  the  reservoir  ten  million  fra!l(| 
a  (ia\';  tlio  immense  forcing-pumps,  placed  in  a  horizontal  position,  and  worked  by  i.i;i„ 
on  the  water-wheels;    and  the  vast   net-work  of  mains  and  pipes  which  convey  the  wi 
to  all  parts  of  the  city.     The  buildings  containing  this  ponderous  machinery  are  (i|Hn 
the  ])ublie,  and  the  majestic,  regular  motion  of  the    massive    forcing-wheels   offers  ,1  y 
stant  source  of  attraction  to  the  curious  visitor.     The  peculiar  and  by  no  ineans  disagi! 
able  odor  |)r()duced  by,  fresh  water  when   in   broken  motion  pervades  these  buildiiifjs,  i 
can  be  detected  at  some  distance  as  you  ajiproach  them. 

The  grounds  in  the  immediate  vioinity  of  the  Water-Works,  though  limited  in  ; 
are  j)leasantlv  laid  out;  and  wooded  paths  wind  up  the  Reservoir  hill,  summer-hoii->t>- , 
rustic  seats  being  placed  on  the  various  coign'.,,  of  'vantage.  Projecting  from  the  Rcsrrvi 
there  is  a  massive  stone  belvedere,  from  which  may  be  obtained  an  extensive  view  of; 
Sehuvlkill  and  its  pietiues(]ue  shores  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  roofs  and  spires  of  • 
great  city  on  ilic  other.  The  view  of  the  Water-Works  from  the  opposite  side  dl 
Schuylkill  is  ([iiile  iuil(iiie,  a  pleasant  architectural  effect  being  produced  by  two  li; 
drecia"  tem|)les  which  overhang  the  water,  and  by  the  symmetrical  colonnacU'  m 
largir  t)f  the  half-dozen   buildings  which  appertain  to  the  Water-Works. 

luubowered  in  the  tiees  near  these  buililings  is  the  monument  erected  to  tin  iin 
ory  of  Prederiek  (iiaeff,  the  designer  and  lirst  engineer  of  the  works.  It  is  but  ;r 
minutes'  walk  from  this  spot  to  the  large  bronze  statue  of  Lincoln,  erected  in  iS; 
probably  the  nuwt  claboiate  monument  vet  erected  to  the  memorv  of  the  nir 
President. 

Fairmount    Park,  in  its  entire  extent,  comprises   som.    four   thousaiul    acies,  ^  !■ 
times  larger  than   the   famous   Central    I'ark    of   New  York,  and   is  by  far  the  nuii 
tensive   pleasure-giomul   in   this   country.       It    lies   cm    both    sides   t)f   the    SchuvlUll 
eomnuinication    b-tween    its    diffeicnt    sections    is    maintained    bv    the    biidges   at    d 
Avenue    and    .Sehuvlkill    ("alls.      There    is   also,    betovv    Fairmount,  a  wire    bridgr  « 
when   it   was   new,  was  thought    to    be    a    retnarkable    trium|)h    of  engineering   ^l<ill 
attracted   the   attention  of  all  visitors  to  the  ^)iiaker  Citv.     It   is  to-dav  as  useful 
sightly   as    ever,   but    its   ceieldity   has    beiii    long    since    eclipsed.      I-airmount    I'.iii^ 
gradually  formed    thiough    the    puichase    by  the   municipal    authorities   of    several  1 
elegant,  well-cultivated  estates  which  lay  on  either  side  of  the    Schuylkill    in    lh«    m 


m 


leric  term,  and  da 
niinjj  spot. 
i|)l)-  of  water  ski  ^^ 
vas  not    until   ip^ 
ill,  by  means  ofi 
plan   are   tiic  o 
water  up  the  ri 
ten  million  i^all' 
d  worked  by  era:, 
;h  eonvey  the  wj 
chincry  are  open 
wheels   offers  a  o 
no  means  disaifi 
these  buildiiiifs,  i 


ujrh   limited  in  s 
,  summer-houses  2 
from  the  Rescm 
xtensive  view  of: 
;   and    spires  of 
;)pposite  side  of 
]uced    by    two  Ir 
d    colonnade  oi 
ks. 

-•reeted  to  the  nir 
s.  It  is  but  a ' 
II,  erected  in  iS; 
lory    of    thi'   nu 

isand    acres,  i-  v 
by  far  the  ninq 

the    Sehuylivill 
I'    biidm'S    ;il    (■ 

wire  bridt;!  w 
njrineerinjf  skill 
[lay  as  useful  m 
h'airmount  I'.uL 
•s  of  Severn  I  I'l 
dkill    in    th<    m 


38 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


II 


1  I  ■ 


of  the  city.      The  property  includes  Belmont,  once  the  country-home  of  Judge  Pcten, 
noted  jurist  in  the  early  part  of  the  century,  and  a  personal  friend  of  General  Washin; 
ton  ;  the  Landsdowne  estate,  belongintr  to  a  Marquis  of  Landsdowne,  who  married  Mjj 
Bingham,  an  American  lady ;   and  the  Sedgely  estate.      These    lands   are  all   on  the  w 
side  of  the  river.     On  the  east  side  the  city  has  acquired  Lemon  Hill,  Eaglesfield,  ai 


Kucklniul  Laiulint;,  on  ilie  .Schuylkill. 

all  the  estates,  on  that  side  of  tiie  stream,  u|»  lo  the  VVissahiekon   River.      Not    only  liW       r 
these  acijuisilions  offer  "ani|)le  room  and  verge  enough"  for  one  of  the  most   magnifici"^^ 
parks  in  the  world,  liul   the  admiraiile  natural   advantages   -gentle  declivities,  and  a  P'^"!^^  oyi 
res<jue  river  among  them — were   enhanced   liy  the   fact    tiiat   the   private  country-seats      i,_fL 
which  this  property  is  mostly  composed,  were  all  richly  improved.    The  ancestral  trees  w    xaXox 
in  excellent  preservation  and  in  the  fullest  snlcndor  of  their  foliage.     The  roads  wi  k 


ll 


PHILADELPHIA    AND    ITS   SUBURBS. 


\  of  Judge  Petersj 
f  General  Washing 
;,  who  married  \\\ 
are  all  on  the  wa 
4  ill,  l':aglesfidd,  ar 


39 


|laid  ou: ,  and  the  grounds  showed  that  for  years  they  had  received  the  careful  attention 
^f  skil'.cd  landscape-gardeners.  In  fact,  the  Park  authorities  had  only  to  combine  into 
me   a   number   of  pleasure-grounds   already    constructed,   and    to    invite    the    citizens    of 

^hiladel])hia  to  the  immediate  enjoyment  of  one  of  the  loveliest  out-door  resorts  in   the 

country. 


^■'f-CS. 


^mk 


I'he  Scliuylkill— View    liuni    l.anilsilowm-. 


Of  ^<^wsv,  the  points  of  view,  the  quiet   retreats,  and   the   charming   nooks   m   Fair- 
•  most  magnilu  ^1,1  , 

mount  I'ark  are  almost  mnunurable.      1  he  wmdmgs  of  the  river  offer  a  consta 
ivities,  and  a  pi 


istant  variety 


f  country-seats 
;n\cestral  trees  w 
The  roads  wen 


of  sytvan   scemrv.      .\l    Ut.ekland    Landing,   for  instance,   there    is  an    extensive   view   in 
^^^'^ J*^''-'*'""'^  ""•''  ""■    ''*■'"'   "*"  "'^'   ^"■'■'""    ^"ts   it  off,  while   (lireetlv    behind    the  spec- 


tator 


pec- 


towers  a   rocky,  perpendicular  cliff,  on  the  face  of  which  the  various  strata  of  rock 
are  ex0>sed  to  view  in  a  inunncr  which  would  delight  ecpially  a  sei.miri,    geologist  or 


40 


PIC  rURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


f:l! 


pi 


% 


1    fi 


,1. 

■I 


the   mere   casual  l(wcr  of  the   jiicturesque.     Above    Belmont   the  stream  assumes  a  wili;^ 
character.      The  shores  slope   gradually  down   to  the  water's  edge ;    and  the   overhangiJ 
trees   curve    gently   forward   t.'ver  the    road-wav,  as  if,  like   the   fond    Narcissus,  thev  wj 
enamoured  of  their  own   reflection   in   the   fair   hosoni   of  the   limpid   stream.      From 
heights  of  Landsdowne   there   is  a  wider  scope  of  vision.     Seated  on  the  rustic  liuncij 
overshadowed   by  stately  trees  of  almost   a   primeval  growth,  the   lounger  may  enjoy  i 
of  the   most   delightful   bits  of  river-scenery   of  the    milder   order  which    our   country  i 
fords.      Perhaps  among  tiie  noblest  views  which   are  afforded  by  the  rich  variety  of  i 
Fairmount  country  is  one  to  be  gained  from  the  West  Park.      In  this  view  the  riverj 
not  visible.      The  eye,  wandering  over  an  expanse  of  billowy  foliage,  descries  in  tin; 
tance    the    roofs    and    spires   of  the   fair   city,  and    the    smoke    of  industry  arising  froul 
hundred  tall  chimneys.      Near  the  centre   of  this  scene  arises  a  graceful  and  varied  ar(^ 
tectural  grouping,  formed  by  the  tower  of  the    Masonic  Temple,  the    shaq)    spire   of  i 
adjacent  church,  and  the  swelling  dome  of  the   Roman  Catholic  Cathedral.     These  l)ui| 
ings  are  not  really  near  together;   but,  by  the  effect  of  parallax,  they  seem   to  form  i 
group,  and  in  their  proud  majesty  dominate  the  entire  city. 

The  Delaware  and  the   Schuylkill!     "The  wedded  rivers,"  VVhittier  calls  them  in| 
recent    lovely    pastoral,   "The    Pennsvlvania    F'ilgrim."      Perhaps   the    Eym|)athetic   visitil 


Schuylkill,   almvc    Ki'Imonl. 


r 


m  assumes  a  wile 
11(1  the  ovcihanp 
"Narcissus,  they  w 
stream.      I'mm 

the  rustic  hcnci 
ijrer  may  enjoy 
lich   our   countrj' 

rich  variety  of 
lis  view  the  river 
,  descries  in  tire 
lustry  arising  from 
ful  and  varied  ar 

sharp    spire   of 
ledral.     These 
y  seem   to  form  oi; 

:ier  calls  them  ini' 
sympathetic   visit. 


■p-fi 


ill! 


fill 


I       I 


'  I 


4  M! 


•1 


"  '1  I    I 


\ 


wandi 
keen^ 
days, 


ii- 


I     f       I 


:     K 


n 


I  names 
nated 


::i 


PHILADELPHIA    AND    ITS    SUBURBS. 


4J 


old   Bkidge  on   the   Wissahickon. 


wan«|iring  in  Fairmount  Park  at  that  sweet  hour  when  day  is  melting  into  night,  may 
keenir  nalizc  the  Quaker  poet's  description  of  the  city  and  its  vicinage  in  the  colonial 
days,  nearly  a  century  before  the  colonists  were  troubled  with  dreams  of  independence : 


"...  One  long  bar 
Of  purple  cloud,  on  which  the  evening  star 
Shone  like  a  jewel  on  a  scimitar, 

"  Held  the  sky's  golden  gate-way.     Through  I'l.c  deep 
Hush  of  the  woods  a  murmur  seemed  to  creep. 
The  Schuylkill  whispering  in  a  voice  of  sleep. 

"  All  else  was  still.  The  oxen  from  their  ploughs 
Rested  at  last,  and  from  their  long  day's  browse 
Came  the  dun  tiles  of  Krisheim's  home-bound  cows. 

"And  the  young  city,  round  whose  virgin  zone 
The  rivers  like  two  mighty  arms  were  thrown, 
Marked  l)y  the  smoke  of  evening  tires  alone — 

"  Lay  in  the  distance,  lovely  even  then, 
With  its  fair  women  and  its  st.ttely  men 
Gracing  the  forest-court  of  William  Penn — 

"  Urb.in  yet  sylvan;    in  its  rouph-hcwn  frames 
Of  o,ik  and  pine  the  dryads  held  their  claims, 
And  lent  its  streets  their  pleasant  woodland  names." 


And   to   this   day  many  of  the    streets  of    Philadelphia   retain    "their    pleasant    rural 

UnesT  as    Pine,   Chestnut,  Vine,  and    others.      The   great    majority,  however,  arc   desig- 

Ited  by  numerals — a  prosaic,  mechanical  system,  which  seems  to  be  generally  adopted  in 

n 


Ifi 


42 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


our  larger  American  cities,  though    it    was    never   found    necessary   for    Paris,  London,  or 
Vienna. 

In  the  West  Park  will  tie  erected,  in  1876,  the  superb  buildings  intended  for  the 
International  Exhibition  connected  with  the  Centennial  Celebration.  The  central  struct- 
ure will  be  permanent,  and  will  remain  most  probably,  for  ages  to  come,  an  ornament  to 


I 


8  ' 


l-^'i£^. 


Drive   along   the    Wissahickon. 


:i- 


the  Park,  a  source  of  attraction  to  strangers,  and  an  object  of  pride  to  citizens.  Tlif 
crowds  of  visitors  from  all  jtarts  of  the  world,  who  will  flock  to  Philadelphia  on  tin 
occasion  of  the  official  celebration  of  our  hundredth  national  birthday,  will  ever  recall 
with  pleasure  the  sylvan  beauties  of  Fairmount  Park,  and  will  spread  far  and  wide  the 
fame  of  this  most  delightful  |)leasure-resort.  In  twenty  years,  Fairmount  will  he  as 
famous  in  its  way  as  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  of   Paris,  Hyde    Park    of   London,  the    Pin 


PHILADELPHIA    AND    ITS    SUBURBS. 


43 


Ician  Hill  of   Rome,  the  Cascine  of   Florence,  or  the  Prater  of   V^ienna.      It    possesses   a 
Igreater  variety'  of  natural  beauty  than  any  of  them. 

No  notice  of  Philadelphia  would  he  complete  without  some  descri])tion  of  the  Wissa- 
Ihickon.  This  very  picturesque  little  river  winds  through  a  narrow  valley,  between  steep 
land  richly-wooded  banks,  and  possesses  all  the  wildness  of  a   stream  far  from  *he  haunts 


W  i--,.T.ihiLkuii,   iK'ar    Paper-Mill    Hridj^c. 


jf  men,  though  it  is  but  a  few  miles  from  one  of  the  largest  cities  on  the  continent. 
Its  beauties  begin  from  the  moment  it  pours  its  crystal  current  into  the  waters  of  the 
Ichuylkill.  As  it  approaches  the  latter  river,  it  is  quiet  and  peaceful ;  but  it  soon  be- 
anies almost  a  mountain-torrent,  as  it  is  confined  between  narrow  banks  and  overshad- 
|\vcd  by  towering  hills.     Its  water-power  has  been  made  available  for  manufacturing  pur- 


44 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA, 


f 


V  m 


I 


'pl  i'l 


'•11 


I  i 


i  I 


poses;  but,  as  it  has  lately  been  indudcd  within  the  limits  of  Fairmount  Park,  it  is  I 
understood  that  the  unromantic  mill-buildings  will  be  soon  removed,  and  nothing  allowed  I 
to  remain  whieii  ean  in  any  way  interfere  with  its  wild  and  picturesque  beauty.  Rvcnl 
at  present,  these  objectionable  structures  are  not  wholly  unsightly;  and  the  Victories  atl 
the  mouth  of  tiie  Wissahickon  are  so  shaded  by  foliage  that,  in  conjunction  with  tlitj 
arches  of  the  bridges  near  by,  they  offer  tempting  bits  of  form  and  color  for  the  artist's 
IHiicil.  The  old  log-cai)in  bridge,  which  crosses  .the  stream  at  one  point,  has  attracted! 
the  attention  of  both  amateur  and  professional  sketchers  nearly  as  much  as  the  falls j 
which  give  variety  to  one  of  its  widest  stretches. 

A  witle  eaniage-road  runs  along  the  bank  of  the  Wissahickon,  and  is  a  favorite  drivtl 
of  tlie  Philadelphians,  the  river  dancing  along  on  one  side,  and  high,  rocky  projectionJ 
crowned  with  wild,  overhanging  trees  and  shrubbery,  bordering  the  other.  Nothing  cail 
surjwss  the  variety  of  this  river-scenery.  Even  the  covered  bridge,  so  often  an  unsightlti 
olijeet  in  tiie  rural  scenery  of  America,  when  compared  with  the  open,  arched  bridges  o;i 
luirope.  seems  to  i)e  in  keeping  here.  We  can  hardly  say  as  much  for  tiie  so-callt:i 
•  i*ii)e  IJritlge,"  which,  to  the  unprofessional  eye,  looks  as  if  it  were  thrown  upside-doii'; 
across  tiie  valley. 

\'arious  restaurants  and  houses  of  resort  for  jileasure-seekers  are  to  be  found  on 
W'issaliickon  road.  Other  spots  are  noted  as  the  localities  of  various  traditions,  genen 
of  a  rather  apocryphal  nature.  Near  the  "log-cabin"  is  a  lane  which  leads  to  a  \vc[| 
tlug,  some  two  centuries  ago,  by  one  John  Kelpius,  who  is  generally  known  as  "t 
hermit  of  the  Wissahickon.  This  man,  a  grailuatc  of  the  University  of  Helmstadt,  iJ 
(iermany,  came  to  Philadelphia  in  1694,  with  a  jiarty  of  two  hundred  followers,  who  haj 
atloi)ted  his  peculiar  religit)us  views.  Whittier  says  that  the  "  Magister  Joliaiin  Kelpius 
was  a  believer  in  the  near  ai)].!  ich  of  the  millennium,  and  was  thoroughly  iinbued  \vir| 
the  mvstic  views  of  the  German  philosophers.  He  called  his  settlement  by  tiic  (J 
name  of  "The  Woman  in  the  Wilderness."  He  died  in  1704,  when  only  thirtv-l'oJ 
vears  of  age.  wliile  in  the  act  of  preaching  to  his  discijiks  in  liis  garden.  He  was  A 
possessor  of  a  "stt)ne  of  wisdom,"  which  he  threw  into  the  river  shortly  before  his  deiJ 
and  wiiicli  has  never  been  found.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  believer  in  the  theories  ( 
the  alchemists  of  the  middle  ages,  and  during  his  lifetime  was  viewed  with  distrust  1 
the   Penns\lvania  ()uakers.     Whittier  s|)eaks  of  him  as  "the  painful   Kelpius,"  who- 

"  in  his  hermit  den 
Ry  Wissahickon,  maddest  of  good  men, 
Dreamed  o'er  the  Chiliast  dreams  of  Petersen." 

There,  where  "  the  small  river  slid  snake-like  in  the  shade,"  he  is  described  as  enxiiiii 
wi/ard-like  over  forbidden  books,  and,  by  the  aid  of  his  magical  stone,  seeing  visions  j 
strange  and  terrible  as  those  beheld  by  the  inspired  eye  of  the  Seer  of  Patmos. 


%. 


Park,  it  i, 
ng  allowed 
ity.      Even 
factories  at  I 
)n  with  thtl 
the  artist's 
as  attracted  I 
as   the   fallij 

ivorite  drivtl 
projeetionij 
>{()thinfi;  cail 
an  unsip;hti!i 
d  bricljz;es  oi| 
the  so-calleci 
upside-dorj 

found  on  till 
;)ns,  gcncrall 
ids  to  a  weij 
own   as  "tl^ 
Helmstadt,  i 
rers,  wlio  hi;| 
ann   Kelpiusj 
imbued  m 
t   by  tlie  oa 
nlv  thirty-loJ 
lie  was  li 
ore  lii^  de,ii| 
le  thcorios  i 
ith  distrust' 
is,"  who— 


d    as    cnxiiii: 
_'ing  visions 
iitmos. 

1 

SCENES    ON     THE     WISSAHICKON. 


I    Jim 


■"     '■« 


46 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


% 


Laurel  Hill,  the  famous  cemetery  of  Philadelphia,  which  for  many  years  has  i)eeii 
the  subject  of  artistic  illustration,  is  now,  like  the  Wissahickon,  included  within  the 
limits  of  Fairmount  Park,  though  a  suitable  wall  of  partition  secures  to  it  the  privacy 
becoming  a  metropolis  of  the  dead  Here  rest  many  of  the  most  noted  citizens  of 
Philadelphia,  iucluding  persons  who  have  won  an  abiding  fame  in  tiie  worlds  of  literature 
and  of  art.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  Schuylkill  is  another  cemetery,  known  by  the 
rather  cumbrous  name  of  West  Laurel  Hill.  The  other  cemeteries  of  the  Pennsylvanian 
metropolis  are  known  as  Monument  Cemetery  (from  a  monument  erected  to  the  joint 
memories  of  VVashington  and  Lafayette),  Mount  Peace,  Mount  Vernon,  Glenwuod, 
Mount  Moriah,  Woodland,  and  the  Cathedral  Cemetery,  the  latter  being  the  favorite 
place  of  intevment  of  the  Roman  Catholic  community.  There  are,  besides  these,  various 
^mailer  cemeteries,  belonging  to  different  organized  societies. 


\ 

''I-:: 

i  I 


4; 
i      \ 


s 

dk. 

1 

Lis 

■  > 

■Tfl 

y:  i 

.^■: 

» 

1  \  " 

\     ■ 

■  1.     ■ 

1 

■:■/ 

■.-■ 

;w.- 

m 

itf 

^ 

^ 

(Jii    the   Wistahickun   ul    SunwI. 


SCENES    IN    NORTHERN    NEW   JERSEY. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    JULES   TAVERNIER. 


Sceiif  on  the  I'».ssaic. 


l/rHOUGH    New   Jersey,  ever  since  her  admission  into   the    Union,  has    been    the 

l.utt  lor  the  sarcasm   and  wit    of  those  wiio    live   outside    her    borders,  the   gallant 

|ttl(    Si;ito  lias  nnieh  to  he  proud  of.      Her  history  is  rich  in  instances  of  heroism,  espe- 

illv  (Iminjr  the   Revolutionary  period.      Iler  prosperity  is  far  greater  than  that  of  many 

loiMcr  and   more  excitable  comimmitiis.      ller  judiciary  has  made  the  name  of  "Jersey 

lu^iict"  a  terror  to  the  evil-<l<)er.      Her   lerritorv   includes   every  variety  of  scenery,  from 

hi(    |iicturesquc  hills  and  lakes  of  her  n<»rthern  to  the  broad  sand-wastes  of  her  southern 

jiiniies.     Those  interested  in  the  statistics  of  industry  will   find  much  that  is  worthy  of 

loiu.    ill    htr    iron-works  and  other  great   manufacturing  establishments,  while  those  who 

L   ilu    indolent   delights  of  summer  enjoyment    cannot    fail    to   he   charmed  with  her 

loiw  and  fashionable  sea-side  resorts. 

The  pictures(iue  features  of    New  Jersey  lie  almost   entirely  in   the    northern    M-ction 

ilie  State,  and  are  within  easy  nnich  of  the   gieat    metropolis.      Indeed,  thousands   of 


n 


!1 


I    1 


1  I 


KAOL.K    HOCK,    UHANOK. 


WASHINOTON     MOCK 


?^r-'t»^-:.,i^'^-'^'  i•'''"«♦"^ 


^^ 


11 


i;i 


j,  . 


11 


Ml 


50 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


the  business-men  of  New  \ o\V  live  in  tiie  midst  of  these  picturesque  scenes,  an  iiour's 
ride  servinfj  to  convey  them  from  the  turmoil  of  city  occujiations  to  the  serene  quiet  and 
svlvan  charms  of  rural  life.  Jersey  City  and  Newark  are  flourishing  cities,  with  popuJa- 
tions  of  their  own  ;  hut  the  multitudinous  smaller  towns  and  villages,  within  a  radius  of  j 
fifty  miles,  owe  their  existence  entirely  to  the  surplus  population  of  New  York. 

A  ride  of  seven  or  eight  miles  brings  the  traveller  from  the  valley  of  the  Hudson! 
to  the  valley  of  the  Passaic,  the  latter  being  bounded,  at  some  distance  inland,  by  the  I 
abrupt,  precipitous  range  of  hills  known  generally  as  Orange  Mountain.  A  dozen  ycarjl 
ago,  this  mountain  was  a  wild,  uninhabited  region.  The  Dutch  farmers  who  originalhi 
settled  in  this  vicinity  were  content  to  nestle  in  the  grassy  valleys,  preferring  for  their| 
homes  the  (]uict  plains  rather  than  seeking  for  ])icturesque  nooks  on  the  frowning 
side.  They  built  solid  one-story  houses  of  gray-stone,  covering  them  with  overhanj;iiiir| 
roofs,  and  caring  in  their  domestic  arrangements  rather  for  comfort  than  for  elegancel 
Manv  of  these  sim])le  yet  substantial  structures  are  standing  at  this  day,  giving  shclttri 
to  the  descendants  of  those  who  I)uilt  tliem.  Others  have  jwssed  into  the  hands  of  citvj 
folk,  and  have  been  decked  out  with  verandas,  furnished  with  larger  windows,  and  cvai 
provided  with  Mansard  roofs,  so  that  it  is  diflicuit  to  recognize  in  these  reconstructeiij 
ediliees  the  solid  old  farm-houses  of  a  hundred  years  ago.  In  no  part  of  the  counml 
has  speculation  in  real  estate  been  carried  on  more  vigorously  or  more  successfully  thatl 
in  Northern  iSew  Jersey,  and  many  a  hard-working  farmer  has  found  himself  unexpcci- 
edlv  rich  through  the  marvellous  rise  in  the  value  of  the  land  which  his  fathers  consid- 
ered as  only  adapted  to  the  raising  of  cabbages  or  potatoes.  In  the  last  few  veanj 
railroad  communication  has  increased  to  such  an  extent  that  almost  every  farm 
Northern  New  Jersey  enjoys  tiie  advantage  of  being  "near  the  station" — a  privilcpl 
which  onlv  those  who  live  in  the  country  can  fully  appreciate. 

One  of  till-  lirst  and  most  successful  attempts  at  landscape-gardening  on  a  larp| 
scale,  in  this  country,  was  made  by  the  late  l.lewellyn  S.  Haskell,  a  genfknian  who  wii 
especially  enamoured  of  rural  life,  and  who  to  ample  ineans  and  unllagging  energy  adiktl 
a  finished  and  cultivated  taste.  He  purchased  a  large  tract  of  land  on  Orange  Moun-j 
lain,  and  laid  it  out  as  a  park,  in  which  he  and  his  friends  built  a  variety  of  elegaml 
private  residences.  No  attempt  was  made  to  deprive  this  ngion  of  its  wild  primevsj 
beauty.  Koads  were  laid  out,  winding  in  gentle  curves  amid  the  rugged  rocks  and 
thiough  the  rich  an<i  pictureM|ue  forests.  Near  I'-agle  Rock,  the  proprietor  of  tlel 
superb  domain  erected  his  own  home,  at  a  point  which  commands  a  vierv  more  e.xtensivt 
than  any  other  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York.  Beneath  the  spectator  livs  the  eullivaiKJ 
valUy,  covered  with  villages,  ami  [lartiully  bounded  by  the  Berpen  Hills.  '!"o  the  stiuiJ 
cm  be  seen  the  gleam  of  the  waters  of  the  bay  of  New  \'ork  and  of  the  .\lianiii| 
Ocean,  and,  under  favorable  atmospheric  circumstances,  the  spires  of  the  great  city.  Thfj 
whole    eastern    slope    nf  the    mountain,  for   several    miles    in    length,  is  dotted  with  m 


an   iiour'sj 

quiet  and 
ith  popula- 
I  radius  ol 
rk. 

le  Hudson! 
ind,  by  the  I 
lozen  years] 
)  originallvi 
ig  for  theii] 
wninp;  ' 
overhanging  I 
ir  elegance 
ving  shdtcrl 
mds  of  citvj 
s,  and  ever! 
econstructeiil 
the  eountnl 
essfully  thanj 
If  uni'xpcct- 
Ithers  consiil- 
few  yean 
farm  inl 

-  a    |)riviiei.tl 

un    a   iarpi 

an  who  wiil 

nerjiy  adiirtl 

anije  Mduivl 

of  ilcL'ar..j 

lid  |>riiiinil 

n>ci<s  anci 

•tor   of  ttej 

re  extcnsinl 

le  euliivaltij 

)    the    MiulJ 

the   Ailaniij 

It   cit\. 

(I  witli  roi 


w 


I 


«!  a 


52 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


dences,  most  of  which  command  this  dcli^jhtful  view,  which  increases  in  diversity  ani 
beauty,  though  not  in  extent,  as  you  go  northward  into  the  prosperous  town  (,i 
Montclair. 

At  the  foot  of  the   mountain  there  is  a  well-kept  road,  which  is  a  favorite  drive  fori 
the    residents   of  the  vicinity,  a.fording  as  it  does,  in  the  warm    summer   afternoons,  thatl 


MttfM^/«s:A   Ji 


>    ! 


'rerracc  House  ami  Thdrn   Nfountnin. 


"shadow  of  a  great   nuk   in  a  wearv  Kmd "  of  wlu'cli   the   vScriptura!  poet  spoke  so  mamj 
thousand  years  ago;    and,  ;il    the   same    lime,  offering   a   goodly  view  of  the   level  plaid 
I'Vom    this    road — though  it    is  at  a  much   lower   elevation    tlian    the    point    of   view  sujj 
gested    in    our  engraving— ICagle   Kc^ck  is  seen  towering  up  in  majestic  grandeur,  as  M 
and  rugged  as  when  onlv  tlie  red-nun  inhal)ilcd  this  charming  region.     The  eagles,  \vhirt| 


diversity  and 
»us    town  of! 

rite  drive  foij 
ernoons,  that  I 


V-?'. 


)oke  so  mami 
I-    level   plain 

of  view  sutl 
idciir,  as  k 

eapli's,  w 


I' 


m 


-r-= 


■■■ 


54 


PIC  TURJiSQ  UE    A  Mi:  RICA. 


;W:| 


r.ii: 


t 


\\. 


I 


%\ 


% 


\ 


gave  it  its  name,  are  now  i)iit  sek'om  seen;  yet  the  hoary,  scarred  projection  seems  to j 
the  eye  as  distant  and  as  desolate  as  when  it  was  indeed  the  iioine  ol'  tiie  i<ing  g[| 
birds. 

Still  more  strikinjj  in  appearance,  and  more  picturesque  in  formation,  is  WasiiingtoJ 
Rock,  on  tlie  same  rantre  of  hills.  This  rock  is  divided  by  a  deep  chasm  Into  two  pani! 
one  of  which  has  evidently  been  cleft  from  its  fellow  by  some  great  convulsion  of  xj 
ture,  and  has  fallen  several  rods  down  the  slope  of  the  hill,  where  it  stands  firm  aitl 
upright.     From  this  rock  it  is  said  that  George  Washington  viewed  the  land  below,  ea| 


Little   Falls. 

to  trace  the  course  of   tlu'    British    armv.      .\t    that    time    the    plain    was   cultivated,  itj 
true;    but  the   pretty  little  village    of   Dunellen,  which    to-day  forms  so  pleasing  a  fcaicj 
of  the  scene,  was   then    imthought    of  and  the  mountain  itself   was  as  wild  and  unin 
ited    as    the    far-distant    Sierras.      Washington   Rock    is   now  a  favorite    resort    for   n 
parties,  and  f(tr  the  tourist  who  seeks  to  gratify  his  taste  for  the  ])ictures(iue. 

Farther  to  the  north  of  the    State    is    the    Ramajio    River,  a  stream  wiiidi    fin 
way  between  high  hills,  and  is  freipiently  made  use  of  for  manufacturing  purposes.    ' 
one  of  the  (lams  which   (»bstruct   its  course,  (he  water  flows  in  a  graceful   cascade,  wh 
but   for  its   jirim   regularity,  would   etpial   in   its   beauty  of   motion   the   natural   falls  wh 


u)n    seems  to 
tlic    kiiijj  (f 

HH 

i 

Fn^gH^ 

i<i^ 

is  Wasliingto: 

|^9| 

^^ 

nto  two  pan. 
ulsion   of  X; 

fMH^^B 

jftft^^ 

^ 

1 

tands  liim  an 
d  !)elo\v,  eagt 

till. 


JWSr,wy/f<(Kfj 


cultivated,  it] 
casing  a  fain 
Id  and  uiiiny 
sort  lor  picn^ 
luc. 
wiiivM  finds 
purposes.    (.'i| 

cascade,  wh 
ural   falls  \M 


wm 


11 


1 

it 

! 
1 

i 

f      ■ 

1        ' 

ti 

^ 

Mi 


1     ■■!!  ':: 


'    ! 


56 


/>/C  TURHSQ UE    AMERICA. 


■  M 

's- 


are  ever  such  a  source   of    delight    to    tlie    lover   of   the    beautiful.      To  such,  indeed,  tbj 
Raniapo  offers  many  attractions.     The  stream,  in  its  numerous  curves,  constantly  prescnJ 
fresh  points  of  view.      The    hills — sometimes   abrupt,  someilmes   rolling — here    and  thci 
recede    from    tiie    river's   ed^rc,  leaving  grassy  fields  or  rocky  plateaus,  on  either  of  whitjj 
it  is  a  pleasure  to  stroll,  listening,  as  did  Sir  IJedivere,  to — 

"...  hoar  the  ripple  washing  in  the  reeds, 
And  the  wild  water  lapping  on  the  crag." 

The  sails  on  the  river  add  to  the  variety  of  the  scene ;  the  fisherman's  rovv-ooat  impai 
to  it  notable  life  and  vivacity ;  and  the  wreathed  smoke  of  the  locomotive  does 
seem  wholly  inharmonious.  In  fact,  the  railroad-train  has  become  (juite  a  pruminei 
incident  in  our  river-scenery.  Railroads  naturally  follow  the  river-courses,  and  they  giJ 
to  the  wildest  and  most  unfrequented  valleys  a  touch  of  human  life  and  interest  wjiij 
greatly  adds  to  the  effect  of  mountain  solitudes.  Heard  in  the  far  distance,  the  whisil 
of  the  locomotive  sounds  really  musical.  Tlif  rumbling  of  the  approaching  train— noij 
enhanced  by  a  sudden  echo,  now  deadened  by  a  plunge  into  a  tunnel — grows  nearer  1 
stronger,  till,  as  the  long  line  of  cars  passes  by,  it  becomes  less  and  less  distinct, 
dying  away  in  the  distance,  rendoi  e  solitude  of  the  hills,  by  contrast,  still  more  loneli 
There  is  in  all  this  a  certain  piciures(|ue  effect  of  sound — if  the  expression  may 
allowed — whicii  harmonizes  well  with  the  rural  scenery.  When  a  railroad  was  first  prJ 
jected  along  the  shore  of  the  Hudson  River,  the  occupants  of  the  elegant  countrv-sejj 
which  adorn  the  green  banks  of  that  noble  stream,  were  highly  indignant  at  what  tkf 
deemed  an  invasion  of  their  rights,  and  an  outrage  upon  the  tjuietude  and  beauty  of  tin 
homes.  Audubon,  the  celebrated  naturalist,  who  lived  on  the  Hudson,  was  so  affected Ij 
this  innovation  that  his  anxiety  on  the  subject  is  said  to  have  shortened  his  life.  t| 
day,  however,  no  one  complains  of  the  passing  trains,  which,  in  fact,  add  a  peculiar! 
ment  of  human  interest  to  the  wildest  and  grandest  scenery. 

There    are    many    other    points    of   picturesque    beauty   in    Northern    New  Jerscv 
which  we  can  only  brietly  allude.     Greenwood  Lake,  on  the  boundary-line  between  NJ 
Jersey  and   New   Vork,  is  sometimes  called  the  Windermere  of  America,  and,  in  its  (ju 
graceful  beauty,  will  remind  the  traveller  of  the  famed  English  !ake.     It  has  of  late  ya 
become  a  recognized    place   of  resort — perhaps   the    most    noted    in    the    State,  with 
exception  of  ('ape  May,  .^\tlantic  City,  and  Long  Branch. 

Among  till-  hills  and  streams  of  the  section  of  country  to  which  these  few  paj 
are  devoted  may  be  found  many  attractive  nooks — many  tjuietly-beautiful  homes, 
Terrace  House,  which  is  overlooked  by  a  towering  mountain-peak,  worthy  of  compand 
ship  with  the  mountains  of  New  Ham|)shire.  But,  as  a  general  thing,  the  seiiieni 
Northern  New  Jersey  is  on  a  less  extensive  scale.  The  liills,  rugged  and  wild  as  tlij 
mav  be,  after  all,  cannot   fairlv  be  called  mountains.      The    lakes    are    small,  and  the 


1,  indeed,  \\,\ 
intly  preseni 
re  and  then| 
[her  of  \vhi( 


,v-ooat  imp; 
live   does 
:   a   promini 
and  they  gir| 
interest  whi 
ice,  the  whi: 
ing  train— n 
ows  nearer 
?s  distinct, 
;ill  more  Ion 
ession   may 
d  was  first  p 
int  country 
at  what 
beauty  of  t 
so  affected 
his  Ufe.    1 
a  peculiar 

^ew  Jersey 

hetween  Ni 

uid,  in  its  qi 

as  of  late  y( 

State,  with 


"1/ 


•;||(|,l|'> 


"/  (^' 


'!  ,/j/'''     . ,  !  '  ; 


these  few 
iful  homes, 
of  compand 
the  sccnerv 
d  wild   as  till 
ill,  and  the 


n 


PASSAIC     FALLS. 


I 

■ 


4    - 
'14     I 


li 


'I 


I 


I 
^'  i. 
II*       1 


I- 


;  ? 


I      a  i 


58 


/  VC"  TURESQ  Uli    A  M  ERIC  A . 


row  rivers  find  devious  paths  among  their  rocky  l)arriers.  Principal  among  these  streams 
is  that  on  which  the  largest  city  of  New  Jersey  is  situated.  Indeed,  the  Passaic,  tt 
which  allusion  is  made,  is,  not  only  in  its  historic  interest,  but  its  great  length,  hreadit 
and  ct)mmercial  importance,  a  notable  exception  among  the  rivers  of  New  Jersey.  F,. 
though  rising  in  and  flowing  for  much  of  its  course  through  a  hilly  and  rock-bdun 
region,  the  Passaic  River  is  the  most  tortuous  and  the  most  sluggish,  as  well  as  iff 
longest,  stream  in  the  State.  From  its  extreme  source,  in  the  upper  part  of  Morr, 
County,  it  flows,  as  gently  as  "  sweet  Avon,"  between  the  hills  of  that  county  and  p.. 
sex,  taking  toll  of  Dead  River  as  it  passes  the  base  of  Long  Hill,  and  thence  stialin; 
its  way,  with  scarcely  a  ripple,  through  narrow  vale  and  broad  valley,  for  twenty  niil^ 
among  the  defiles  of  the  Horseshoe  Mountain,  till  it  receives  the  tribute  of  the  vivacioKl 
Rockaway.  Stimulated  apparently  by  the  instillation  of  this  lively  little  rock-stream,  dj 
perhaps  awakened  to  J:he  sense  of  an  impending  crisis  in  its  fate,  it  emerges  from  t' 
last  defile  with  a  sudden  start,  and  almost  rushes  for  a  few  miles  toward  its  first  la 
over  the  raj)ids  ■)(  Little  Falls,  nearly  opposite  the  somewhat  uninteresting  manufacturi[: 
village  of  that  name.  This  first  saltatory  experiment  of  the  Passaic,  though  compaj! 
tively  of  a  gentle  character,  is  still  not  devoid  of  picturesque  beauty,  or  even  of  a  certar 
grandeur.  The  fall  is  more  than  three  hundred  feet  broad,  and  is  formed  with  an  oliiu; 
angle  o])ening  down-stream,  over  which  the  river,  just  pausing  to  smoothe  its  lulll- 
surface  on  the  brink,  leaps  in  two  broad  sheets  of  foam-capped,  spray-clouded  water,  ,1; 
then  glides  away  serenely  to  perform  a  similar  feat  a  short  distance  lower  down,  at  i 
Second  Fall — the  two  being  possibly  in  the  nature  of  rehearsals  for  the  final  aciobai 
struggle  at  the  (ireat  l^assaic  Falls,  some  six  miles  below.  The  scenery  along  the  rivi 
during  its  leisurely  loiterings  through  the  mountains,  and  its  scarcely  more  luirried  vov 
athwart  tlie  vallevs  of  its  upper  course,  is  of  that  peculiar  character  which  belongs 
such  regions.  Tall  masses  (jf  rock  rise  abruptly,  at  intervals,  on  its  banks,  like 
l)uttresses,  or  still  more  like  the  massive  and  forest-grown  ruins  of  mighty  rock-structui 
such  as  are  found  here  and  there  along  the  water-courses  of  the  wondrous  Southw 
The  river-bed  is  rocky  ;  yet  the  flow  is  hardly  fretted  into  ripples  by  these  up-crop| 
barriers,  but  seems  to  hold  the  even  tenor  of  its  way  with  a  quiet  disregard  of  ojjst*"*^' 
that  is  eminently  suggestive  of  a  serene  philosophy.  At  Little  Falls  the  Morris  ( ji 
crosses  the  river  l)y  a  handsome  stone  acjueduct ;  and  from  the  summit  o(  this  tlic 
tic  loungers  may  obtain  a  charming  view  of  the  stream,  winding  down  between  01 
hanging  hills  of  greenery,  and  jutting  escarpments  of  cedar-crowned  trap -rock 
sandstone,  toward  Great  Falls,  and  the  more  level  reaches  of  the  Paterson  plains 
the  .salt-marshes  of  Newark.  Before  reaching  this  point,  however,  the  river  undergo^ 
second  tribulation  in  the  shape  of  another  fall  and  rapid,  which  rouse  its  slugjjislii 
into  momentary  and  picturesque  furv,  and  over  and  down  which  it  roars  in  foamy  w 
scarcely  subdued  in  time  to  collect  itself  for  the  struggle  five  miles  beyond.     But  it 


mmmit^^:--, 


:|    l.'T 


M; 


ill 


1. 


^ 


6o 


PICrURESQUIi    AMERICA. 


^! 


i 


■:1 


subside,  and,  assuming  once  more  a  tranquil  air  of  unconseiousness,  rolls  smoothly  to  ty 
verfje,  and  then  plunj^es  boldly,  in  one  unbroken  eolumn,  over  the  preeipice  ol'  the  Crql 
I'-alls,   dn)|)i)in<j,   like   a   liquid    thunder-bolt,   sheer   ninety   feet   into    a   ileep    and   nam,«| 
ehasni  of  less  than  sixty  feet  in  widtii,  throuj^h  which  it  dashes  and  foams  in  sh(iit-liveii| 
madness,  to    rest    and    tjlass    itself  upon    a   broad,  still  basin,  hollowed  b\    its   own   lali„r,j 
from    the    solid    rock.      After    leavin.tj    this    basin,  the  river  is  vexed    no   more,  but    mm. 
pleasantly  oast    many  tlirivinjj    towns    and    hamlets,  givinj^  of  its  tiile  to  turn  the  whuiij 
of  industry   here  and  there,  spanneil    by  bridges  of  many   forms    and    purposes,  from  t^l 
elaborate    iron  arch  of   the    railway  to  the  rude  rusticity  of  the  wooden  foot-bridt^^.,    |, 
path  now  lies    amid    rieh    u|)lan(ls   and    orchards,  teeming  fields,  and    the    dwellings  i,t 
prosperous   agricultural    cominunity.      But  there  are  still  many  picturesque  gliinj)sis  .| 
wilder    nature   along  its  coinsr.  and  many  a  spot  known  to  the  disciples  of  the   "^icnilt 
Izaak "    as    giving    and    fulfilling    the    |)romise    of  excellent    sport    and    the    added   ch;in;| 
of  attract'*"  scen.ry.     {-"rom  Patcrson  to  Newark  the  shores  spread  like  an  amphitlicatrJ 
covered   with    verdure,  dotted    thicklv    with    dwellings   and    the    monuments   of  sucassfj 
enterprise    and    industry,  giving  it  the  appe.irance    of  a  watery  highway  through  a  piciJ 
rcsque  succession  of  close-lying  villages  and  centres  of  busy  life. 


Ncnr  OrrrnwiKvl   lake 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


WITH    II.l.USTKATIONS    HV    J.    OOUGI-AS    \V(I(  )I)\VARI). 


'I         S'l 

-j-  Ml 


111.  iharms  u{    the  litanfiful  vallrv  ol    the  Cinuurticut  liavf  so  often  bi'cn  (li-scrilx d 

tli.it  alt  |>nsoiis  ol  mtillimiur  in  this  comUiy  must  have  some  knowledjre  of  thrm. 

niinn  the  hills  of  New   ilain|>shir'  aiil   \'eiit»oiit  the  (|ueen  of  our   Nt»v-lMijr|aii.l   rivers 

|«s  its  rise.     I 'lowing  in  a  nearly  southerly  direction  for  lour  hundred  miles,  it  forms  the 


62 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


i  ! 


# 


Saybrook. 


";  ,■^0"'^' 


(iividinj.::  line  l)ctwecn  the  two  States  in  \vhii| 
it  had  its  birth.  Crossinp  the  States  ol  mJ 
sachusctts  and  Connecticut,  it  em|)ties  into  i|tj 
Long-Island  Sound,  'inrough  this  eh;irnij 
valley  we  now  propose  to  pass,  from  ti^ 
mouth  of  the  river  to  its  northern 
near  Canada,  our  artist  meanwhile  jfivinj; 
sketches  of  som*'  of  the  leading  points  of  interest,  and  makinii:  us  accpiainted  with 
rare  hea;  tv  of  its  exeeedintrlv  varied  and  pieturi'S(juc  scenery. 

Lcaviii).;  the  ears  .if   llie  junction  of  the   Shore   I.ine  Railway  with  that  of  the  ( 
iiecticut   Kiver,  if  we  arc  good   pedestrians  we  shall  not  fail  to  walk  the  entire  ientrth 
the  broad  street  on  which  have  been  built  mos^  of  the  houses  of  the  ancient  town  n|  nj( 
brook.      Although    the   distance    to    Saybrook   Point— the  terminus  of  the  railroad  ,ii 
mouth  of  the  Connecticut— is  not  far  from  two  miles,  we  shall  not  lind  our  walk  .1  wv 
some  one.      The  venerable  elms  l)eneath  which  we  pas.s  will  remind  us  of  the  olden  ti 
and  there  will  b<-  enough  of  the  antitpie  meeting  our  eye  t«  carry  us  back  to   tin 
when    I-ord    Say    and    Seal   and    Lord    Brook,   in    the   unsettled    period    of  the  nielli 
Charles  I.,  priKured  from    Robert,  l^ail    o)    Warwick,  a  patent    of  a    largj*   tract   cf 


^S5! 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


63 


(tatcs  m  wli 


ithin  which  was  included  the  territory  on  which  the  town  of  Saybrook  was  laid  out  in 
335.  Our  walk  has  brought  us  to  a  gentle  rise  of  land,  from  which  we  get  a  distinct 
lew  of  Long-Island  Sound.  On  our  right  is  t  cemetery,  through  the  iron  gate  of 
Ihich  we  pass,  and  come  almost  immediately  to  a  very  ancient  and  somewhat  rude 
konument.  We  read  the  simple  inscription — "Lady  Fenwick,  1648;"  and  we  are  in- 
armed that  she  was  Lady  Anne  Botler,  or  Butler,  the  daughter  of  an  English  nobleman, 
id  the  wife  of  (rcncral  Ferwick,  the  commandant  of  the  fort  erected  not  far  from  this 
3t.  .Another  item  of  historic  interest  also  comes  to  our  notice.  The  place  where  we 
now  standing  was  laid  out  in  those  early  days  with  great  care,  as  it  was  expected   to 


Momh  uf   Turk    River. 

)in.  the  residence  of  eminent  men,  and  the  centre  of  great  business  and  wealth.  Oliver 
11,  with  a  company  of  men  who,  suliseqiientlv.  during  the  period  of  the  I'.iigiish 
nil  nwcalth,  l)ecame  so  distinguished,  actually  embarked  in  the  'Ihames,  intending  to 
1(  11  .Savbr<K)k.  A  wpiare  was  laid  out  a  little  west  from  the  fort,  in  which  the  plan 
,i((t  houses  for   (Tomweli,   I'ym,  Hampden,  and  other  well-known  »oiinnoners   nt 

I  Wh.il   different  fortunes  might  have    Ufallen    the    mother-country  had   the    pro- 

II  larricd  out!  Siiybrook  Point  had  the  lumor  of  In-ing  selecte(l  as  the  site  for 
.  liitite  school  which  afterward  liecamc  Yule  College.  The  building  first  erected 
ive  iMirne  sonu!  ftsttnhlantc  to  a  ri)|>v-walk,  living  one  story  in  luighl  and  eighty 
U'li^th 


l.%. 


-i 


£i\-' .\.  *  ■,  -J^:  £'^  L-ek 


»  j'iS, -.''ilii.ti-' 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


65 


r  ~i 


:« 
* 


I 


ji'K 


U4 


.^  :.»■.':'■■  I 


-'3^  ..'  V 


Leaving  Saybrook  —  a 
place  around  which  cluster 
so  many  venerable  associa- 
tions— we  begin  our  ascent 
of  the  river.  We  soon  i)ass 
through  scenes  which  remind 
us,  on  a  diminished  scale,  of 
the  Highlands  of  the  Hud- 
son River.  A  sail  of  thirty 
miles  brings  us  to  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  places  on 
the  river  —  M  iddletown  —  a 
partial  view  of  which  our 
artist  hj'^  given  us,  the  sketch 
having  been  taken  above  the 
city.  As  the  writer  was  walk- 
ing u|)  from  the  river  to  the 
McDonough  House,  he  had 
ri)r  iiis  companion    Professor 

S ,     of     the      Wesleyan 

I'niversity.  On  remarking 
to  him  'iliat  it  was  bis  prac- 
tice while  travelling  in  lui- 
ro|)i'  to  seek  some  elevated 
spot  iVom  which  to  get  a 
bird's-e\e  view  of  the  pi  ,.  cs 
he  visited,  allusion  having 
been  especially  matie  lo  tiie 
view  of  Athens  obtained 
from  Lyeabettus,  llie  |)ro- 
fessor  replied  that  nowhere 
abroad  I'ad  he  seen  anv 
thing  more  beauliful  th:in 
M  iddletown  anti  its  sur- 
roundings from  some  high 
spot  in  the  western  '.Icfn 
of  the  'itv.  .\s  we  '^t^>^Hl 
on  the  top  of  Jiidd  Hall 
one    of   the  iiuildings  of  the 


66 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    AMERICA. 


% 


I 


'li: 


.1 


SVesIeyan  University  and  lot  the  eve  ranjjf  over  the  idely-extended  scene,  we  coul  , 
heartily  respond  in  the  affirmative  to  this  remark.  The  '>  itself  presents  a  most  attncj 
tive  appearance,  with  its  streets  of  generous  width,  adorned  with  shade-trees  and  manil 
elegant  mansions  and  public  iuiildinus.  The  Methodists  have  here  one  of  their  eariiesl 
and  most  nourishing  seats  of  learning  in  the  country,  founded  in  1831.  Its  oldest  huilJ 
ings  were  originally  built  for  the  American  Literary,  Scientific,  and  Military'  Aeadetntj 
under  the  care  of  Ca|)tain  i'artridge.  This  institution  not  meeting  with  the  siiccejj 
whicii  its  projectors  had  anticipated,  it  was  purchased  l>y  the    Metb'-"t=    and,    under  tlyl 

care    of  that    denomination,    is    taking  high    rank    among   the   best ^cs   of  the  lanfj 

Some    of  its    buiklings,   especially    the    Memorial    Hall    and   judd    HaJl,  are   among 
finest  of  their  kind  in  the  country. 

Opposite    Middletown    are    the    famous   freestone   quarries,  from   vvbieSj    some    >(  td 
most  stately  and  costly  buildings  in   New  York  .Mad  other  cities  bavc   bewr,    erccti-d. 
cording   to    tradition,  thi'    rocks    at    the    northern    md    principal    (ji|«ening        L-^inaliv 
shelving  over  the  river.     They  were  used  for    Iwjihjnir-material   not    Umg    atr-r    the    .,^j 
ment  of   Middletown.     A  meeting  was  held  in  this   rt<«-n  in    1665,  at  which    a    resolutji 
w.is    |)assed    that    no  tiiic  should  dig  or  raise  stones  .rt  the  rocks  on  the  east    4<le   df  1 
rivir  liut    111    inhaliitant    of    Middletown.  and    that    twelve   pence    should    be    ^luid   to  t^ 
town  tor  every  Ion  of  stones  taken.     N'  iw  the  ^'unnecticut  freestone  is  as  famous  ,is 
ancient    Pentelic  inirble  from  the  (piarrie"-  near  Athens. 

The  level  tracts  north  of   Middleti>«n   will  nof    be  <n'erlooke(l   bv  the  t<mrist. 
me  iilow-l.iiids,  which    are    found    all    alony    rhe    (  tmnecticut,  are    exceedinglv    fertile; 
some  of  the  liiiest   farms  in  tin-   Xew-F.npiaiMl  .States  have    been    formed    out    of  this 
of  exceeding    richness.     It   was    liiese    ntfidow -lands    that    attracted     tu     attention   of  1 
earlv   settlers  nl"   the    Stale,  and    brought   to  ronnecticul    some    of   rh<-    best    blood    dj  J 
l'l\  Miiiiitb  aiiil    Massachusetts  colonies.     Aliovr  Middletown,  ,1    lew  miWs.  is  VVethcrstial 
claimed  b\   some  to  be  the  oldest  settlement  in  tlw  Commonwealth,     .\mong  thosi    :•] 
comers  tu  the   lowlands    of   Connecticut    there  was    on<-  wirn.in,  who    had    a    good 
of  spirit,  and,  we   judge,  no  small  amoi  <i!    of   humor,  in    her  composition.     It    is  nli 
that,  will  n   the  seitlers  arrived  .11    the    place  where    tbev   were    to    land,  some  coiitrnvfl 
arose  who  should    first    set    loot    im    llu     shore.      Whii-     rhe    men   were    contendiiiir  tj 
each  other  lor  this  privilige,  gctod   Mrs.   liarlier,  '    '  mi  mm-  of  the  contention 

teroiisly  sprang   forward,  and,  reaching  the  shore,  hi   tin    niuiDr  of   first   treaditiL'  nn  j 
soil.     Weihersfield   i-   ,1   venerable,  st.iid  old  |»la«.e,  long  eelclmited  for  a  S|)ecialtv  to  vJ 
its  inhabitants  luAf  directed  their  ,i.tentioii    -the  cultivation  of   the  onion.     It  i^  ai^ 
seat  of  the  .State-prison,  which,  if  we    mistake    not,  the   authorities   of  Connecticut 
tlwir  tradiiiunal  -^kill  in  timtinf  an  honest  penny  from   all  enterprises  in  which  tlun 
bark,  luive  ina<le  a  source  of   no  little  income  to  the  Statr. 

We  are  now  j|iprf)aching  <.iw  ol    the  most  charming  cities  in  our  countr>     llu 


;ne,  we  coulj 
a  most  attncJ 
:es  and  mantl 
r  their  carliesj 
^  oldest  Imilil 
tar\'  Acadtmtj 
h  the  sutc(?j 
nd,  under  dxl 
!  of  the  I; 
re   anning 

some   of  tkl 
erccttci.    \\ 
rig-inaliv  hia 
h'-r   the  M^n-i 
h  A  resolutt 
St   wie  of 
e    fMid   to 
famous  ,!'>  ! 

lonrist.     Th 
iy   fertile 
lit   of  thi^  >fi 
tention   of 

IiIikkI   III 
^  \Vctlicr>.ti« 
mfi  those 

a  jio( )(! 
It  is  rel! 
nie  cuntnn'fl 
i>ntendinir 
imtcntioii,  I 
eadini;  mi 
ciallv  In  R-ii 
It  i-  ,ii>ii 
)nnectii;ui. 


vhich  tliivfl 

^ 

Lintrv    lilt  J 

^ — -~.^ 

• 

'",,■*■ 


68 


PIC  TUR  liSQ  UF.    A  ME  RICA . 


of   Hartford.     The  scenery  all  about    it  is  of  a  very  picturesque  character.     Its  hanks  a:,j 
among  the  most  beautiful  levels  on  the  river,  and    indicate   at    a    single   glance   that  the,] 


M 


I  I: 


Stunc    HthlKc,  llailfonL 


must  Ik-  a  mine  of  agrieultur.il  wealth  to  the  cultivators  ol    ihc    soil.      I  he  oriKinai  i., 
of  the  place  did  not  earrv  with  it   the  euphonv  which    usually  characterizes    the   n|,| 


Irrrau.'    Mill,  1  iiy    I'arli,   llarlforil. 


fkun   names,  it  Ix-ine  called  Suckiaug.     Ihc-  story  of  the  hardships  of  its  parly  sciti 
a  familiar  one.      l)r    Tniinluill    telN   us    that,   "  al)out    th<-    beginning    of  June,   I'i; 


m; 


THE    VALLEY   OE    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


69 


looker,  Mr.  Stone,  and  about  one  hundred  men,  women,  and  eliildrcn,  took  their  de- 
^rture  from  Canihridjrc,  and  travelled  mon;  than  a  lumdred  miles  through  a  hideous  and 
ckless  wilderness  to  llartlord.  They  had  no  guide  but  their  eom|)ass,  and  made  their 
Ly  over  mountains,  through  swamps,  thiekets,  and  rivers,  which  were  not  passable  but 
|th  great  difliculty.     They  hail  no   cover   but    the    heavens,  nor  any  lodgings  but    those 


Main-Slm-l   Uritl(;e,  llartfuni 


lune,   I't.'vV 


simple  mlure  afforded  them.      They  drove  with  them  a  huntlnd   and  si.xty    head  ol 
,  .mil  bv  the  way  subsisted  on    the    milk    of   iheir   cows.      Mrs.    Hooker  was   borne 
;,'h  the  vvildernes.s  u|Km   a    litter      The    pe<tple    carried    their    packs,  arms,  and    some 
I-    "WrtMk     They  were  nearly  a  fortnight  on  their  journey.      This   adventure  was  the  more 
iiaika'.de,  as  many  of  this  company  were  persons  «if  hgure,  who  had  lived  in  England 
Illonor.  aHliunee,  and  delicacy,  and  were    entire    strangers   to   fatigue    and    danger."      It 


70 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


■'A 


\     i 


does  not  fall  within  our  design  to   follow  the   fortunes   of  these    adventurers.      It    is  omi 
of  our    power    to    comprehend    the    difficulties   which    they    encountered.      Among  their 
severest  trials  was  the  constant  dread  in  which  for  years  ihcy  lived  of  the  attacks  of  tht 
savages,  by  whom    they    were    surrounded,  who,  with    ill-concealed    chagrin,  saw    the  rid 
possessions  over  which,  without  let   or   hinderance   they  had  l)een  wont  to  roam,  slipjjinj! 
out  of  their  hands,  and  the  white  men  iiecoming  the  lords  of  the  soil. 

The  city  of  Hartford,  in  our  judgment,  contrasts  favorably  with  the  many  places  ini 
our  country  which,  if  looked  down  upon  by  an  observer  a  few  hundred  feet  in  the  air) 
look  like  a  checker-board.  The  very  irregularity  of  its  laying-out  adds  to  its  eharmJ 
It  is  divided  at  the  south  |)art  by  Mill  or  Little  River,  two  bridges  across  which  arc  >utl 
in  the  accompanying  sketches.  We  present  also  a  sketch  of  Terrace  Hill,  in  the  Ciiil 
Park,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  in  the  city.  Just  back  of  the  fnic  old  trees  \vhic*| 
occupy  the  centre  of  the  picture  are  the  buildings  of  Trinity  College,  an  Episcopal  'A 
stitution,  which  has  done  good  service  in  the  cause  of  sound  learning.  On  the  grounil 
is  a  noble  statue  of  Bishop  Brownell,  in  which  he  is  represented  in  full  sacerdotal  roljej 
looking  benignantly  over  the  scene  on  which  his  eye  is  supposed  to  rest.  The  buili 
of  Trinity  College  are  soon  tt)  be  removed  to  make  way  for  the  erection  of  the  CapitJ 
of  the  State  of  Connecticut,  which  bids  fair  to  be  one  of  the  most  costly  and  elegar] 
structures  of  its  kind  in  the  countrv. 

Hartford  is  celebrated  as  being  the  seat  of  some  of  the  best  charitable  institufit 
in  the  I'nited  .States.  Prominent  among  these  are  the  Asylutn  for  the  Ueaf  and  Dumll 
and  the  Retreat  for  the  Insani'.  The  first  of  these  institutions  was  founded  by  an  as*! 
elation  of  gentlemen  in  1.S15.  It  owes  its  origin  to  a  distinguished  clergyman,  the  Rt; 
Ur.  Cogswell,  the  father  of  a  beautiful  child  who  lost  her  hearing  at  the  age  of  two  yeirJ 
and  not  long  after  her  speech.  Wishing  to  educate  this  daughter,  and  in  his  deep  sra 
pathy  including  other  young  persons  alike  unfortunate,  it  was  arranged  that  the  late  Rrj 
T.  H.  (lallaudet,  l.L.  D.,  should  visit  Europe,  and  in  the  institutions  for  the  deaf 
dumb  in  the  old  countrv  gain  all  the  information  he  might  need  lor  successfulK  esuJ 
iishing  a  similar  institution  in  the  United  States.  On  his  return  he  was  accomp.inir| 
by  Mr.  Laurent  Clerc,  himself  a  deaf-mute,  who,  under  the  celebrated  Abbd  Sicard, 
been  a  successful  teacher  for  several  years  in  Paris.  I '  nder  the  joint  supervision  u| 
Messrs.  Gallaudet  and  Le  Clerc,  the  institution  soon  won  its  way  to  popular  favd 
The  number  of  its  pupils  increased  rapidly,  all  parts  of  the  country  being  reprcsenta 
among  them.  So  successfully  did  the  cause  of  its  unfortunate  inmates  appeal  i"  la 
pul)lic  benevolence  that  Congress  granted  to  the  asylum  a  township  of  land  in  \k 
bama,  the  j^oceeds  of  the  sale  of  which  were  invested  in  a  permanent  fund. 

Half  a  mile,  in  a  southwesterly  direction  from  the  centre  of  the  city,  on  a  n^ 
sightly  spot,  is  the  Retreat  for  the  Insane.  Its  founders  showed  their  good  taste  i 
selecting  this  place  for   an    institution   which,  of  all    others,  should    be    so    situated  a^  I 


W- 


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THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


7> 


Ecuie  for  its  inmates  every  thing  that  can  charm  and  soothe  a  disordered  mind.  From 
[le  top  of  the  building  the  fvc  ranges  over  a  scene  of  rare  beauty.  In  the  immediate 
ficinity  is  the  city  of  Hartfoul,  with  its  public  buildings,  its  elegant  mansions,  and  its 
lumerous  manufactories,  representing  the  industry  and  thrift  of  a  busy  town.  The  view 
If  the  Connecticut  Valley  in  both  directions,  north  and  south,  is  very  extensive,  and 
ibnices  some  of  the  choicest  scenerv  ^n  the  river.  Looking  west,  we  see  numerous 
jlllages,  in  which  are  found  forest-trees  and  orchards,  beneath  whose  grateful  shade  nestle 

cottagts  and  farm-houses,  the  very  sight  of  which 
awakens  in  the  mind  most  gentle  and  soothing 
emotions,   making    us   fancy,   for   the    moment,   that 


Windsor   Locks,  Connecticut   River, 


to   sucli    a    paradise  sin  and    sorrow  have 

pt  found  thoir  way.      The   grounds  of  the 

treat    have    been    laid    out     in    excellent 

^le.      Some  twenty    acres    furnish    the    most    ample    fticilitics   for   delightful  walks   and 

jies;  while   the   old    trees,  standing   cither   singly  or    in  clusters,  invite   to  quiet  repose 

^vse   whose   di,seascd    intellects    and    wayward    imaginations    mav    lind    rest    amid    such 

'  eful   scenes.      How    many    morbid    fancies,    how    many    strange    hallucinations    have 

pul    to    night    amid    these    scenes;    how    changed    have    been    views    of    life    and 

f,  which  have  maile  the  world  both  I'reary  and  desolate,  and  robbed   many  a  soul   of 

peace!     Let   an}'  one  with  nerves  shattered  by  e.xces.sive  brain-work,  and  weary  with 


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/'/C  7'cy'/?  /:"6-^  ^/;'    AxUJiR/CA . 


the  daily  and  constant  toils  of  life,  walk  throup^li  tlu-  neat,  airy  halls  of  the  Retreat, 
or  wander  over  its  l)caiitirul  grounds,  and  breathe  the  invig()ratin[j:  airs  which  come 
from  the  neitjhboring  hills,  and  he  will  at  once  feel  a  kindly  inlliience  ])ervading  his 
whole  being,  and  filling  him  with  ])rofound  gratitude  that  ('hristian  benevolence  has 
here  put  forth  her  best  efforts  to  alleviate  the  sorrows  of  humanity.  "  The  general 
system  of  moral  treatment  at  this  institution  is  to  allow  the  patients  all  the  liberty  and 
indulgences  consistent  with  their  own  safely  and  that  of  others;  to  cherish  in  them  the 
sentiment  of  self-respect;  to  excite  an  ambition  for  the  good-will  and  resjject  of  others; 
to  draw  out  the  latent  sparks  of  natural  and  social  affection  ;  and  to  occupy  their  atten- 
tion with  suc'.i  ein|)loyments  and  amusements  as  shall  exercise  tlii'ir  judgment,  and  with- 
draw their  minds  as  much  as  possible  from  e\er\  tormer  scene  and  every  former  c(im- 
panion,  and  give  an  entire  change  to  the  curn'nt  of  their  recollections  and  ideas.  By 
pursuing  this  course,  together  witii  a  judicious  system  of  medication,  many  of  ^hese  once 
miserable  beings,  cut  off  fn-m  all  the  'linked  sweetness'  of  conjugal,  parental,  filial,  and 
fraternal  enjoyment,  are  now  restored  to  tin  blessings  of  health,  to  the  felicities  of  affec- 
lion,  and  to  the  capacity  of  performing  the  relative  duties  of  domestic  and  social  life." 

Any  allusion  to  Hartford  without  reference  to  the  famous  "Charter  Oak"  would 
be  like  the  pla\'  of  "Ilamlet"  with  th.e  character  of  Ifnitilcl  left  out.  .Mtlunigh  the 
storv  is  a  familiar  one  to  the  people  of  C(mnecticut,  we  do  not  lose  sight  of  the 
circumstance  that  we  an  writing  these  sketches  for  hundreds  anil  thousands  in  our 
own  eountrv,  and  in  other  lands,  who  hue  not  so  nuich  as  heard  that  there  was 
a  "Charter  Oak."  This  famous  tiee,  now  no  longer  stantling,  occupied  an  eminence 
lising  above  the  soiuh  mi'adows,  not  tar  from  the  ancient  mansion  of  the  Wvllys  faniilv. 
Like  tlie  great  elm  on  Moston  Common,  its  age  is  unknown,  the  fust  settlers  of  Nan- 
ford  fmding  it  standing  in  the  maturity  of  its  growth.  Some  idea  of  its  great  size  niav 
be  formed  when  we  are  told  that  it  was  nearly  seven  feet  in  diameter.  The  cavity  in 
wliieh  the  ciu'rter  was  hid  was  near  the  rocts,  and  large  enough,  if  necessary,  to  conceal 
a  child.  Tin'  story  of  the  "Charier  Oak"  is  soon  told.  In  December,  1686,  Sir  I'd- 
muml  An>lros,  wiio  had  ln'en  appointed  the  first  governor-general  over  New  F.nglanii. 
reached  lioston,  Iroin  which  place  he  wrote  to  the  authorities  of  ('(nuiecticul  to  nsiun 
their  charier.  'Ihe  demand  was  not  complieil  with.  "  f he  Assembly  met  as  usual  in 
October,  and  the  government  continued  according  to  charier  until  the  last  of  the  month, 
.'iboiil  thi^  time  Sir  I'.dmund,  with  his  suite  and  mon-  than  sixty  regular  troo])s,  canu 
to  Hartford,  where  the  .\ssembly  were  sitting,  an<l  demandrd  the  charter,  and  declared 
the  government  under  it  to  be  dissolvid.  The  Assembly  were  extremely  reluctant  and 
slow  with  respect  to  any  resolve  to  bring  it  I  )rtli.  The  tradition  is  that  (iovernor  Treat 
strongly  represented  the  great  expense  and  harilshi|)s  of  tlu  colonists  in  planting  tlie 
eountrv;   ihe  blood  and  treasure  which  they  had  expeiuled  in  defending    it,  both   against 


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the 


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d    foreigners;    to  v.hat    haidshi|)s    he    himself   had    been    exposed    for   ti 


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si:iiM:.t,    Al     ^^l■HlN^.il•  U  I.U 


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74 


PIC  TURESO  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


n\ 


I      I 


purpose ;   and  that  it  was  like  giving  up  iiis  life  now  to  surrender  the  patent   and   |)rivj. 
leges  so  dearly  bought  and  so  long  enjoyed.     The  important  affair  was  debated  and  kim  i 
in  suspense  until  the   evening,  when    the    charter  was    brought    and    laid    upon    the  table 
where  the  Assembly  were  sitting.      By  this   time   great    numbers   of  people  were  asseni. 
bled,  and  men  sufficiently  bold  to  enterprise  whatever    might    l)e    necessary  or   ex;iedient| 
The  lights  were  instantly  extinguished,  and  on<!  Captain  Wadsworth,  of   Hartford,  iiii|)t| 
most  silent  and  secret  manner  carried  off  the  charter,  and  secreted  it   in    a   large   liollmfi 
tree    fronting    the   house   of  Hon.    Samuel  Wyllys,  then    one    of  the    magistrates  of  tlit| 
colony.     The    people   all  appeared  peaceable   and    orderly.      Tlie    candles  were   ofl'iciousl 
relighted,  but    the    patent  was   gone,  and    no    discovery  could    be    made   of  it,  or   of  ibJ 
person  who  carried  it   away."     The    "  C^harter  Oak"  was  cherished  as  an  object  of  venerj- 
tion  and  affection  l)\-  the  inhabitants    of   Hartford   fir  several   generations.      A   few  vuinj 
since,  in    1S56,  weakened  by  age  and  decay,  it  fell   before    the    blasts    of   a    seven-  stunril 
It  lives  now  onlv  in  the   menior\'  of  a    generation  which    in    a    lew  \ears  will,  like  tluitl 
fathers,  have  passed  off   the  stage.     It  would  l)e  easy  to  e.vtend    this    sketch    of    Ihutforcj 
indefinitely;    but  we  are  warned  tiiat   we  must   i)ass  on  lo  other  scenes. 

As  we   journe\-  on    wy    tiie  vallev  of  the    Connecticut,  we    ilo    not    lose    our   impri's-l 
sion  of  the  wonderful  beautv  of  the  extensive  meadows,  and  the  indescribable  channsof] 
the  neighboring  and  oversluulowing  hills.     Had   wc  time  we  woukl  be  glad   to  linger  k\ 
a  {{^w  hours  in  the  ancient  town  of   Windsor,  settled  as  early  as  thirteen  years   after  tlit| 
landing  of  the   i'ilgrims  at   Plymouth,  and  the  birth|)lace  of  those   distinguished   men  (ci 
much  liont)re<l  in   the   times    in  which    ihey  lived— Governor    Roger  Wolcott   and  Olivpl 
Kllsworth,    LL.    I).,    Chief-Justice    of    the    I'niled    .States.      We    must    |)ause    for   a  fe«| 
moments  at   Springfield,  one  of  the  busiest,  most  thriving  of  all   the  interior  cities  (ifiliej 
old  Commonwealth  of   Massachusetts.      Let  us  ascend  tlu'    cupola  which    crowns  one 
the    Ciiited    States    buildings,  on    Arsenal    II ill,  and    survey   liie    scene,  and    aeknowbloti 
that   the  i>anorama  on  which  the  eye  rests  deserves  all  the  commendation    that    has  ine:| 
given  it.     Rich  alluvial  meadows  stretch  far  away  in  the  distance    along   the    river,  riMri,] 
gradually   to  ([uite  an  elevation,  and  terminating   in    a    |)lain    reaching   several    miles  tasl 
Lofty  lulls  rear  their  heads  in  all  directions,  clothed  in  the  summer  with  lh(    richest  vr-l 
dure.     \'illages  and  farm-houses  everywhere  meet  the   eye,  while    the   busy  city  is  sprij:] 
out   like  a  map  at  our  feet.     .\n  incessant  noise   from    the    rolling  wheels    of  long  traiihl 
of  cars,  converging  toward  or  radiating  from  the  spacious  railroad  station,  falls  upon  os 
e.n-,  while   the    smoke    that    ascends    froin    the    factories    without    number    tells   us  ol 
activity  which    tasks    the    brain    and    tlu'    |>hysical    energies  of  many    a    skilhil    mcchimtl 
And  this  is  the  Agawam   of  the    olilen    times,  when    tlu'  wihl    Indian    roamed   over  th;'| 
splendid  country,  whose  name-   Springfield  -was  given  to  it  as  far  back  as   1640.     It 
like  other  , daces  lo  which  we  have  referred,  its  history  and    its    traditions   <tf   fearful  *| 
feriiigs  and   shocking   outrages,  when    the   .savages   made   their   attacks   on    its   dtleiiaWl 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


n 


inliahitants.  The  days  of  barbarous  warfare  have  long  since  passed  away ;  l)Ut  the  citi- 
zens are  not  allowed  to  sever  themselves  from  all  warlike  associations,  inasmuch  as  the 
United  States  has  here  erected  one  of  the  most  extensive  armories  in  the  country.  In- 
decc'  'f  we  are  not  mistaken,  it  is  the  largest  arsenal  of  construction  in  the  country,  and 
has  always  employed  a   large    force    of  men    in    the    manufacture    and    repair   of   tens   of 


Mount    llolyiike. 


thou'Juncls  ot  muskets,  kecj)mg 
stored    hundreds   of  thousands 
lof    weapons     of    warfare,    if     any     emergency 
shoidd   arise   calling    for   their    use.      These    ar- 

enal-huildinj^rs   liave    once    been    pssaulted.      In 
[17S6,  during  the  insurrection  in   Massachusetts, 

lown  as  the  ".Shays  Uebellion,"  a  vigorous  effort  was  put  forth  to  get  possession  ol 
jthe  Tniled  States  Arsenal.  At  the  head  of  eleven  himdred  men,  Shays  marched  toward 
|t,  intiiidinjj:  to  carry  it    by  assault.      The    officer    in    command    of  the   defensive    force — 

Jentral  Shepard — warned  the  assailants  of  the  dangei  to  which  they  exposed  themselves, 
but,  his  warnings  not  being  heeded,  he  fired  upon  the  attacking  party,  killing  three  of 
jtheii   nunduT  and  wounding  one,  when  the  assailants  Hed  in  all  haste  from  the   scene  of 


76 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


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action.       Springfield    is    empiiaticaliy     a 
government    city,  its    prosperity    ucpend- 
in<i    largely    on     tlie     patronage    derived 
from    tiie    special    dei)artment    of 
mechanical   labor  in  which  lor  so 
many  years  it   has   been    engaged. 
In  manv  respects  it  is  by  i'ar  tlie 
most    thriving    city  on    the    Con- 
necticut   River. 

Leaving  Springtiekl,  we  pass 


-1  -  ■■;  ■ 


'..^ 


THE    VALLEY   OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


77 


ami  add  to  the  luxuries  of  life.  The  seenery  alon<j  tiie  river,  if  possible,  <rro\vs  more 
charming  as  we  advanee.  The  hills  are  nearer  to  the  river,  and  begin  to  assume  the 
name   of  mountains.      We    have    reached  Northampton,  in  all  respects   one    of  the  most 


ismjT 


The  ("tvlKuv — ' 

be.uitiful 
otlier  hi 
side    of 

ground,  about    a    mile    from    the    river,  between  which 
and    the    town    lie    some   of   the   fairest    meadow-lands 

in    th"   world,  covering    an    area    of    between    three    thousand   and    four   thousand    acres. 

-Like  Hartford,  the  town  is  somewhat  irregularlv   laid  out,  deriving  from  this  circumstance 

what  to  many  eyes  is  a  great  charm     the  charm  of  iliveisity.     It  abounds  in   shade-trees. 


■■■■■■■i 


78 


PIC  1  URHSQ UE    AMERICA . 


4. 


Mount    lorn    from    Oxbow. 


tlic  vnicral)le  ap|)caiance  of  which  i>ivc'S  evidence  of  their  s'^at  age.  Few  jilaces  of  it; 
size  can  l)oast  of  a  larijer  number  of  elcfjant  mansions  and  villas.  Many  persons  of 
intellect nal  culture  and  taste  have  made  their  homes  here,  amid  the  charmmij  scenerv  i)f 
the  |)lace,  that  they  may  enjoy  tlie  many  social  antl  intellectual  ])ri\ile<res  which  tin 
villaiTC  affords. 

We  will  cross  the  river  and  take  our  stand  hy  the  side  of  the  doubtless  enthusias- 
tic fjentleman  whom  our  artist  has  described  as  standing  near  the  edge  ot  a  preci|)itoii'. 
cliff  on  Mount  IIt)lyoke,  The  imagination  can  easily  [)icture  the  exceeding  beauty  J 
the  scene.  The  sketch  shows  to  us  the  river  winding  through  the  meadow-lands,  which,  it 
needs  no  words  to  tell  us,  are  of  surpassing  fertility.  Changing  our  position,  we  arc  at 
the  Mountain  House,  so  distinctly  seen  in  the  next  picture.  Here  we  are,  neailv  .1 
thousand  feet  abt)ve  the  |)lain  below,  s|)reading  far  away  both  north  and  .outh.  from 
this  elevated  point  let  us  look  about  us.  We  ([uote  from  one  who  writes  enthusiastically 
of  this  lovely  scenery:  "On  the  west,  and  a  little  elevated  above  the  general  level,  the 
eye  turns  with  delight  to  the  po|)ulous  village  of  Northampton,  exhibiting  in  its  |)iililic 
edifices  and  private  dwellings  an  unusual  degree  of  neatness  and  elegance.  A  little  more 
to  the  right,  (he  (juiet  and  substantial  villages  of   Hadley  and   Hatfield;    and  still    fartlur 


THE    VALLEY   OF    THE    CONNECriCUT. 


79 


east,  nnd  more  distant,  Amherst,  "Mth  '  its  college,  observatory,  cabinet,  and  academy, 
on  a  commanding  eminence,  form  pleasant  resting-places  for  the  eye.  Facing  the  south- 
west, the  oi)Scrver  has  i)efore  liim,  on  the  o])posite  side  of  the  river,  Uie  ridge  called 
Mount  T)m,  rising  one  or  two  hundred  feet  higher  tiian  Ilolyoke,  and  dividing  the 
\;ilKy  (jf  tlie  Connecticut  longitudinally.  The  western  branch  of  this  v.illey  is  bounded 
on  the  west  by  the  Hoosic  range  of  mountains,  which,  as  seen  from  Holyoke,  rises 
lidiTc  above  ridge  for  more  than  twenty  miles,  checkered  with  cultivated  fields  and 
foRSts,  and  not  unfrequently  enlivened  by  villages  and  church-spires.  In  the  northwest, 
( Inn  lock  niav  be  seen  poering  above  the  Hoosic;  and,  still  farther  north,  several  of  tiie 
("iRcn  Mountains,  in  \'ermont,  shoot  u]i  beyond  the  region  of  the  clouds  in  im|)osing 
onuideur.  A  little  to  the  south  of  west,  the  beautiful  outline  of  Mount  Iwerett  is  often 
\isihle.  Nearer  at  hand,  and  in  the  valley  of  the  Connecticut,  tiie  insulated  Sugar-Loaf 
and  Mount  'rol)y  present  their  fantastic  outlines,  while,  far  in  the  nortlieast,  ascends  in 
dim  and  misty  grandeur  the  cloud-capped  Monadnoc." 

The  artist  has  given  us  aninher  view  of  the  valley  from  Mount  Ilolyoke,  showing  a 
land  of  the  river  which,  from  its  peculiar  shape,  is  known  as  the  Oxbow.  We  have  the 
same  charming  scene  of  meadow  and  winding  river  which  we  had  in  the  other  picture. 
from  Oxbow,  also,  we  have  a  view  of  Mount  Tom,  the  twin-brother,  if  \\e  may  be 
|Rrmilted  to  call  it,  of  Mount  Ilolyoke — not  as  much  visited  as  the  latter,  but  well 
worth  eliniliing,  and  not  disappointing  the  highly-raised  anticipations  of  the  tourist.     The 


■!(■! 


Mount    lliilyiikc    from     rum's    Slalion. 


8o 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


village  of  South  Iladlcy  lies  on  tlic  cast  side  of  Moun'   Tom.     This  place  has  almost  a 
national  reputation  as  being  the  seat  of  the  famous  Mount    Holyoke    Female    Seminar]' 


li 


ki   \ 


3 


Titan's    Pier,    M(]iinl    Holyoke. 


There  are  not   a   few  spots    in    its    neighborhood    from  which    a    spectator  will   get  most 
picturesque  views   of  the   surrounding   country.      The    other  views  which  we    have   intro- 


s  almost  a 
Scminan- 


1   get  most 
have   intro- 


(    ! 


I 


\. ,  'n 


I  r 


¥  '    I 


m 


1 
I    ! 


:t* 


1> 

I 


^i^ 


r^,*i»-  ; 


^^■t 


'.'IP;/ 


•;*;i^"^>i.' 


!'v  -i^iS: 


m 


i-^-.^ 


i  '    I 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


8i 


4 


Northampton    Meadows. 


need  will  |)ro\T  that  an  artist  will  find  in  all  this  njrion  ahundant  opijortunitics  lor  the 
leni-M'  nl  his  skill,  and  that  the  man  of  taste  may  wander  wherever  his  iiiclinalii)ns  may 
|rcct,  and  he  sure  of  lindin^r  enoiij^di  to  jrratifv  his  most  ardent  love  of  Nature. 

South    Hadley    hears   off  the    palm   of  I.einjr,  in    nianv   respects,  the    most    l»eauliful 

|ll;i  e   on   the   Connecticut.      I.et    the    tourist    take   his  stand  on  the  hank  of  the  river, 

H(l  look   toward   the    northwest.      Ilolyoke  antl  Tom  rise  with  boldness  from  the  valley, 

itiilin;:  on  either  side  of  the  river  like  watch-towers,  from  whose   lofty  summits  the  ol)- 

Inn  may  look  out  upon  some  of  the   most    iliirminjr   scenery  in  the  world.      Throujrh 

ipeninjr  made  between  these  twin-moimtains  one  can  sec  twt.  <»r  three  miles  up  the 
vt\.  in  which  will  he  noticed  one  or  two  islands,  looking  peaeelul  enough  to  make 
buihci  |)ara(lisc  on  earth.      Scattered    ovei    the    meadows   are    the    line   old    trees  whose   '^^ 


82 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


m^  i 


ill 


»• 


summer  shadows  aic  so  invitinjj:,  throii<rh  whose  foliage  may  he  seen  the  more  promj.! 
iient  huildings  of  Northampton.  Directly  aiiove  the  town  the  Connecticut,  chanirir-j 
somewhat  its  usual  course,  turns  northwest.  Making  a  bend  to  tiu-  south  again,  it  nin' 
on  for  a  little  distance,  and  then  turns  toward  the  cast.  In  tliese  winding  niovenuni  l 
of  nearlv  li\e  inik's  in  extent,  it  has  enclosed,  except  on  tiie  eastern  side,  an  interval  (ij 
singular  beauty,  containing  some  three  or  four  thousand  acres.  On  the  isthmus  of  tkJ 
peninsula  is  the  princi])al  .street  of  the  village,  not  surpassed  in  loveliness  hy  anv  streel 
in  trie  wiioie  country.     It  is  nearly  level,  is  sixteen  rods  in  breadth,  and  lined  with  trnJ 

whose  verdure  in  sum.ner  is  rich  \\ 
yond  conception.  South  Hadley  is  i,| 
mous   as   having  been  the  residence  i 


lalili-Kock,  Siij;arl,i)af  Minmlain. 

Whallev  and  (ioffe,  two  of  the  regi- 
cides of  Charles  I.,  liuv  having  sat  in 
the    court    which    tried    the    monarch, 

and  signed  the  warrant  for  his  execution.  They  succeeded  in  escaping  front  Kiigiail 
when  their  lives  were  in  great  perii,  ind,  in  1664,  they  came  to  South  Hadley  It' 
s,iid  that  ■•when  the  house  uhi.h  they  occupied  was  pulled  down  the  bones  of  \Vh,iiif| 
were  found  buiied  just  without  the  e«-llar-wall,  i.i  a  kind  of  (omb  formed  ol  iiijv 
work,  and  covered  with  ll;;gs  of  hewn  stone."  Not  long  after  (he  death  !)f  Wliallaisj 
companion,  C.otfe,  left  liadlev.  and  spent  the  closing  days  of  his  life  with  a  Mmofb| 
companion   in  <\ili'   ui    Rhode    Isl.md. 

We  shoidd   l:e  gl.id  to   linger  alx  ut   these  delightful   legions  o(   the  ( 'onnei  titiil  Vil 


THE    VALLEY   OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


83 


ly.  In  no  direction  would  it  l)c  possible  for  us  to  move  without  finding:  something 
^ost  attractive  to  the  eye,  and  pleasing  to  a  cultivated  taste.  Thus,  a  ride  of  not  far 
am  seven  miles  east  of  the  river,  would  bring  us  to  Amherst,  the  seat  of  .Vmiierst 
[ollcge,  founded  in  1821,  and  one  of  the  most  flourishing  literary  institutions  in  Massa- 
lusetts,  many  of  whose  ofiicers  have  stood  in  the  front  rank  of  tiie  educators  of  the 
Jnited  States.  It  may  be  questioned,  indeed,  if,  in  extent  and  variety  of  knowledge  in 
lie  sciences   of  geology    and    mineralogy,  any  man    in    this   country  could    be   compared 


Sugur-Luaf  Mountain    from   Sunilerlanil. 


rifh  Professor  Hitchcock  when  he  was  al   the  height  of   his  professional  career.     iUii   wo 
HUst   resist  the  temptation  which  binds  us  lo  spots  so  full  of  attraction  and   iiilen'sl,  and 
1UVC    on    our   "winding  wav "  U|.    the    river,      We    jiass    Hatheld    and   What.lv,  without 
n-iial  ixaniinalion,  for  want  of  time.     In  the  distance  rises  a  conical  peak  of  red  sand- 
lone,  reaching  an  elevation  of  live    hundred    feet    from    the    plain.      This    is    .Sugar-I.oaf 
Minlain,  in  South   Deertield,  of  wliicli  we  have  two  views  Irom  the  pencil  of  our  artist. 
Ind  both  of  thetn  will  repay  examination.      Although  seemingly  inaccessible,  Sugar-F.oal 
=M-nntain  may  \w  uscundcd  without    serious   dillicullv  on    loot  ;   and    the    toinist  will    be 


84 


/VC TURESQUE    AMERICA. 


% 


% 


nk  J:ii,i£j 


amply  rewarded    for   the  fa. 
tiguc  of  the  ascent  wiicn  ht 
reaches  the  summit.    At  \\\ 
foot    of    the    mountain  thr 
attention     of     tlie     ohservnl 
will  be  arrested  by  a  nioiiii.| 
ment    erected   there  lo  com- 1 
memorate    an     event    uiiick 
took  place  in   1675.     It  \v3j| 
in  liie  lime  of  Kinu   Phi: 
War,  when  Captain  l.athto|ij 
was  enticed  into  an  iimhusli 
liv  the    Indians  with  a  coni. 
pany  of  "eighty  young  mcii,| 
the    very    tlower    of    E; 
County,"   and    nearly  ail  0: 
them  killed.     This  whole  \k- 
j^ion  was   once  the  scene  ot  | 
frightful    disaster,    when 
savages    with    relentless  I'iiit| 
attacked     the    feeble    settle 
ments,  and  many  fell  victim! 
to    their    arrows    and   toma- 
hawks.     Rising   some  seven 
hundred  feet  above  I  he  plain  | 
on     which     the     village 
Dcerfield  st.tnds,  is  Dcerii 
Mountain.     Standing  ontlkl 
-.vestern  verge  of  this  nmun- 
tain,  one  gets  charming  viffl:  j 
of   the    surrounding  countn 
Deerfield   River,  afti  r  passim:  1 
over  a  country  fifty  miles  r, 
extent,  discharges  its  wakP 
into  th<'  ( 'onneclicul.  imt  1.1; 
from    the   spot    in  wiiicli  \V 
observer  stands.     The  nicaii- 
ows  in  tills  neighboduKiiiar; 
es,)eciaily  worth     of  note,  i< 


:m 


86 


PIC  TURESO  UE    A  MERIL  V  / . 


beinsf  among  tin-  most  picturesque  on  the  river.  Other  elevations,  such  as  Mount  Tobv 
and  Moimt  \\'arner,  are  worth  aseendinjj;,  and  from  tiieir  summits  may  he  ohtained  \ie\vs, 
eaeii  one  of  which  will  have  some  peculiar  charm  distinguishinjr  it  from  all  other  \ie\vs. 
We  have  reaeh.-d  Greenfield,  which  combines  the  activity  of  a  manufacturinu  with 
the  quiet  of  a  rural  villatre  of  New  luiyland.  The  two  rivers  which  ])ass  through  tht 
place — Fall  l^iver  and  Green  River — furnish  an  excellent  water-])ower,  which  has  not  ban 
suffered  to  lie  unimproved.  The  beautiful  elin-shaded  streets,  and  tlie  neat,  and,  in  manv 
cases,  elegant  and  tasteful  dwellings,  give  us  an  illustratit)n  of  one  of  the  better  ci;iss  of 
New-England  villages.     The  artist    has   given  us  a  sketch  of  the  valley  of  the    Connecti- 


\A  f*sS' 


i-i 


4i 


:  V 


cut  as  seen  from  Kockv  Mountain  in  Gieenlield.  What  images  of  summer  rci)ose  arc 
awakened  in  the  iniiid  as  we  gaze  upon  the  scene  on  which  the  eye  rests!  Wc  caimoi 
hel|)  thinking  of  thi'  changes  through  which  all  this  region  has  passed  since  the  white 
man  hrst  st't  liis  foot  here.  We  cease  to  wonder  at  the  fierce  struggles  of  the  rcil-man, 
who  saw  himself  driven  out  of  a  heritage  so  fair  and  l)eautiful,  to  exterminate  a  niLV  ul 
beings  who  had  come  hither  from  far  across  the  waters  to  set  u|>  their  new  homes,  anil 
make  this  chaiining  valley  the  scene  of  their  industry,  and  gather  here  the  reward  ol 
their  toil.  Wi'  see  before  us  a  legion,  the  capabilities  of  whicli  are  far  from  having  Iwcn 
hill\    developed,  where  hilure  generations  are  to  live  from  the  jnoducts    of   its   fertile  soil 


•:■  '■ 


THE    VALLEY   OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


87 


and  its  busy  manufactures.  A  single  glance  at  the  "iron  horse,"  dashing  across  the 
Ijiido-e  which  sj)ans  the  Connecticut,  sets  in  motion  a  train  of  thought  as  swift  as  the 
locomotive  which  drags  behind  itself  the  cars  helongiig  to  its  train.  How  much 
has  the  railroad  done— how  much  is  it  still  to  do  in  developing  the  resources  of  all 
this  valley,  ojjening  a  mart  for  its  agricultural  products,  and  the  manufactories,  whose 
wheels  are  run  liy  the  waters  which  How  down  these  descents!  Looking  back  to  an  age 
Ivin"-    far    bevond    that    of   the    settlement    of  the  whit;-    man,  we    come    to    a    geological 

period  when  this  whole  country  presented 
a  scene  far  different  from  the  one  on 
which  the  eye  now  rests ;  where — as  the 
researches  of  such  men  as  Professor  Hitch- 


Whilslone    Hrook,   Ilialllelmro. 

CDck    l)ring    to  our  knowledge — a  race  of 

animals,    now  I'xtinct,  left    the  imprint  of 

its  tootstcps  in  soil  which,  becoming  pet-  \^v''   .'--' 

lilied,  lias    borne  down  to  our  vision    the 

niatks   (if  the    liuge    ciealures    once    roaming    oyer    these    lands.      Casting    our    thoughts 

torward,  we    see   this    valley    dotted    everywhere   with   villages    and    hamlets,  in  which    are 

gatliered    a    population    far    outnumbering    that   which  nou- dwells   here,  whose  homes  will 

Ik-  abodes  of  virtue  and   intelligence.     .\n.l  if  natural  scenery  has  aught  to  do  in  develoj)- 

ins,'  ilic  love  of  the   beautiful,  in    refining    the    taste,  wu\    in   cultivating    the    imagination, 

we  niav  justly  expect  to  fnul  here  a  cultured  people,  with    large  brains  and  warm  hearts, 

wlio  will    be   among  the  best  citizens  of  that  vast  tloinaiii  which  we    delight    to    call    our 

own,  our  dear  country. 


I 


. 

1 

1 

88 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


\\ 


\ 


!       ! 


But  we  can  stay  no  longer  on  this  Greenfield  eminence  to  indulge  in  these  reveries, 
We  descend,  therefore,  and  keep  on,  in  our  northerly  course,  passing  through  Ikinard- 
ston,  and  coming  to  South  Vernon,  from  which  we  will  take  the  few  miles'  ride  rcciuired 
to  bring  us  to  tiiat  beautiful  New-Hampshire  village — Keene.  We  shall  be  paiticu. 
larly  struck  with  the  length  and  width  of  its  streets.  The  principal  street,  which  is  a 
mile  long,  is  an  almost  perfect  level,  and  is  tiiroughout  its  entire  length  ornamented 
with  what  adds  so  much  to  the  charm  of  our  New-England  villages — the  fine  old  trees. 
Blessed  be  the  memory  of  the  fathers,  in  that  they  had  the  good  taste  to  plant  these 
trees,  under  whose  grateful  shades  their  posterity  might  linger,  and  whose  green  foliaije 
might  add  so  much  to  the  beauty  of  the  homes  which  they  were  rearing,  not  for  them. 
selves  onlv,  l)ut  for  their  children  who  .should  come  after  them.  Returning  from  our 
short  circuit,  it  does  not  take  us  long  to  reach  Brattleboro.  We  re  now  getting  into  a 
more  rugged  portion  of  tlie  countr\'.  We  crossed  the  boundary-line  of  Massachusetts  at 
Vernon,  and  are  now  in  Vermont.  Brattleboro  has  the  well-deserved  rejjutation  of  bcinj; 
among  tiie  most  beautiful  sites  on  the  Connecticut.  .\s  a  sanitarium,  it  is  in  some  re- 
spects j)rei5minent,  and  for  many  years  has  l)een  resorted  to  by  persons  in  search  of 
health.  Tiie  .Asylum  for  the  Insane,  long  regarded  as  one  of  tlie  best  institutions  of  it; 
kind  in  the  country,  is  located  in  tiiis  ]ilace.  Brattleboro  lias  also  several  large  and 
well-conducted  water-cure  establishments.  The  water  here  is  said  to  be  of  remarkable 
])urity,  issuing  cool  and  most  refreshing  from  the  hill-sides.  The  fine,  invigoratiiisj  ajf 
ami  tiie  romantic  scenery  which  in  all  directions  meets  the  eye,  make  tiiis  village  one  to 
which  invalids  love  to  resort.  We  give  a  representation  of  Mount  Chesterfield,  whicli 
presents  a  singularly  regular  and  unbrokt-n  appearance.  One  is  almost  tempted  to  think 
that  good  old  1/aak  Walton  has  come  back  from  the  other  world  to  enjoy  in  thi* 
enchanting  region  the  |)iseatorial  pleasures  in  which  he  took  so  much  delight  when  he 
was  an  inhabitant  of  our  earth.  Something  more  than  "glorious  nibbles"  we  will  fain 
hope  that  he  gets,  and  that  a  basket  of  fat,  tcjothsome  trout,  weiglnng  at  least  a  pound 
each,  will  reward  him  for  the  tramp  he  lias  taken  from  his  home  to  catch  them. 

Our  next  stage  is  twenty-four  miles,  bringing  us  to  the  well-known  Bellows  Falls. 
In  ])assing  over  this  stage  in  our  journey  we  have  stopped  for  a  few  moinents  at  Dura- 
merston,  one  of  the  oldest  towns  in  the  State,  watered  by  West  River  and  several 
small  streams,  usefiil  as  water-power.  Near  the  centre  of  the  town  is  what  is  called 
Black  Mountain,  an  iminense  body  of  granite,  through  which  passes  a  range  of  aijjilla- 
ceous  slate.  Our  artist  has  given  us  a  sketch  (jf  an  old  mill  in  Putney,  a  few  miles 
north  of  Dummerston.  This  village  is  beautifully  situated  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Con- 
necticut River,  and  embraces  within  its  limits  an  extensive  tract  of  river-level,  known 
as  the  Great  Meadows.  Sackett's  Brook  is  a  considerable  stream,  which  within  a  dis- 
tance of  one  hundred  rods  fiiUs  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  On  the  breaking  out 
of   the    ImcikIi    War,    in    1744,    a   settlement    was    begun    and    a    fort    erected    on   Great 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


89 


Meadows.  Our  route  has  taken  us  throufjh  VVest- 
niinstcr,  whose  soil  has  made  it  a  |)articulariy  line 
airricultural  reijion.  A  semicircle  of  hills  encloses 
the   |)lace,  touching   the    river  two  miles  above   and 


helow  the  town.     While  this 
has  the  effect   to  add  to  the 
natural   beauty  of  the  place, 
it  has  been  the  occasion  of 
its    hciiiiT    deprived    of    tiie 
water-power    which    comes    from     the 
hills    in     so    many    places    alon<;     tlu' 
Connecticut,    the    streams     beiny     di- 
verted   away  from    the  village    instead 
of   llowinjti  through   it. 
-~    \     "^' 1 1  :7- "^vT "~ '- /"    -  Bellows    I'alls,   of  which    we    have 

Old  .Mill,  Tutiicy.  thice  ])ictures(jue  views,  is  well  known 

as  the  stopping-place  of  the  raihvavs, 
ianil,  to  some  extent,  a  place  of  summer  resort.  The  falls,  which  give  tlie  chief  charm 
Ito  the  itlace,  are  a  succession  of  rapids  in  tiie  Connecticut,  'i'hese  !a|)ids  extend  not  far 
ffrom  a  mile  along  the   base    of  a   high    and    jirecipitous    hill,  a   partial  view  of  which  we 


90 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


•    t: 


I  4 


.L  1 


have  in  one  of  the  sketches, 
which    bears    the  name  o( 
Fall    Mountain.      Standing 
on  the  bridge  which  crosses 
the    river,   one  looks  down 
into   the  foaming  flood  be- 
low.     The     gorge    at   thif 
point  is   so    narrow  that  it 
seems  as  if  one  could  almost 
leap  over  it.     Through  this 
chasm     tiie     water    dashes 
wildly,  striking  with  prodi- 
gious   force    on    the   rocks 
below,  and  by  the  reaction 
is  driven    back   for  (]uit«  a 
space  upon  itself     Inadiy 
tancc    of    half   a   mile  tlic 
water   descends  about  liftv 
feet.     Apart  from   tiie  Ms 
there  will    not   be  much  ti. 
detain    the    tourist    in  thi- 
spot.      There     are     several 
pleasant    villages  in  tiie  vi- 
cinity   to    which    agrecahlt 
excursions  may  be  made. 
Keeping     i)n     in    nut 
northerly   course,  we  conit 
to    C  harlcstown.      At   thi< 
point  there  arc  in  the  Cnii- 
nccticut  River  three  iicaiiii- 
ful  islands,  the  largest— San- 
well's     Island  —  having  m 
area  of  ten  acres,  and  well 
cultivated.      The  other  two 
have  not  far  from  six  acrr 
each  in  them.     Anions;  thi 
first    settlers    of    this  place 
was  Captain   Fhinehas  Ste- 
vens.     When    the    fort,  of 


ii    -■ 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


91 


Iwhich  he  was  the  commantlant,  was  attacked  by  the  I-rcncli  and  Indians  m  1747,  he 
lade  so  gallant  a  defence  that  he  was  presented  by  Sir  Charles  Knowles  with  a  costly 
Isword,  in  token  of  his  appreciation  of  the  bravery  of  the  heroic  captain.  In  memory 
lof  this  act  of  Sir  Charles,  when,  a  few  years  after,  the  township  was  incorporated,  the 
(inhabitants  gave  it  the  name  of  Charlestown. 

No  lover  of  the  picturesque  will  fail  to  see  Claremont,  a  place  watered  by  the  Con- 
inecticut  and  Sugar  Rivers,  and  having  a  line,  undulating  surface,  and  surrounded  by  bills 
[with  gentle  acclivities,  from  the  summits  of  which  are  obtained  charming  views  of  the 
[surrounding  country.  Beds  of  iron-ore  and  limestone  are  here  found,  which  have  added 
[much  to  the  wealth  of  the  inhabitants.  Claremont  took  its  name  from  Claremont  in  ling- 
land,  the  country-seat  of  Lord  Clare,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  governors- 
[general  of  the  East  Indies.  From  this  spot  we  get  fine  views  of  Mount  Ascutney,  of 
[which  the  accompanying  sketch  gives  us  an  excellent  idea.  This  mountain  is  situated  in 
[the  towns  of  Wcthersfield  and  Windsor,  anil  is  an  immense  mass  of  granite.  It  is  well 
[spoken  cf  as  "a  brave  outpost  of  the  coming  (Ireen  Mountains,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
[of  the  White  Mountains  on  the  other."  It  is  sometimes  called  tiic  Three  Brothers, 
from  its  three  peaks,  which  are  so  distinctly  outlined  as  we  look  at  the  mountain  from 
(the  iioint  of  view  which  the  artist  has  selected.  How  extended  and  how  magniticent 
[the  view  is  from  its  highest  summit,  which  is  nearly  eighteen  hundred  feet  from  the  bed 
[of  the  river,  it  is  not  easy  to  describe. 

Windsor  is  our  next  point  of  interest,  situated  on  the  elevated  bank  of  the  river, 
[somewhat  irregularly  built,  but  in  all  respects  one  of  the  most  chamiing  villages  of  \'er- 
Imont.  The  number  of  its  elegant  mansions  and  public  buildings  comjiares  favorably 
[with  that  of  almost  any  village  of  its  size  in  the  country.  Its  wide,  shaded  streets  give 
[it  a  peculiarly  attractive  ajipearance,  and  if  one  ascends  the  highlands  in  the  neigh- 
boring town  of  Cornish,  or  climbs  to  the  toj)  of  Ascutney,  he  will  look  out  uiion  a 
[scene  which  he  will  not  soon  forget.  The  location  of  Windsor  is  such  (hat  it  has  be- 
[come  the  centre  of  trade,  both  for  the  towns  on  the  river  and  for  the  fertile  interio, 
[country.  Its  men  of  business  have  been  enterprising  and  far-sighted,  and  they  have 
built  u|i  a  town  which  has  enjoyed,  and  bids  fair  still  to  enjoy,  a  high  degree  of 
[pros|)erity. 

We  have  reached  White-River  Junction,  where  the  White  River  empties  into  the 
[Connecticut,  of  which  the  artist  has  given  us  a  view.  It  needs  but  a  glance  to  indicate 
[10  us  that  we  are  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains.  We  can  almost  feel  the  invigon'ting 
tbreezcs  as  they  blow  i)ure  and  fresh  from  the  "everlasting  hills;"  and,  as  we  write  this 
[sketch  in  this  hot  July  day,  we  fancy  that  we  feel  all  the  ccjoler  and  brighter  as  we 
[look  upon  the  scene  before  us.  It  is  evident  that  the  artist  has  intended  that  his 
[sketch  shall  represent  the  evening  hour.  The  new  moon  hangs  over  the  valley  which 
[divides  the  two  mountains  in  the  left  of  the  picture.     The  wind  blows  very  gently  down 


j>r 


92 


riC  rURHSQ UE    .  / M ERICA. 


'^. 


ir  I- 


V-       li 


4';; 


1    .1.'      •  - 1 


I  ni 


liuUows    tails. 


Wmml 


the  moiintain-jrorirc,  bcndin.ir  a  little  to  the  ri,<rht  tlic  smoke  whieh  aseends  from  tk 
eliiinney  of  tin-  eotla.oe  in  tlie  rear  of  the  hrid.sro.  The  whole  scene  is  one  of  quid 
iK'aiitv.      Sittinsr    there    where    our    friend    is— on    the    river's    hank— we    think    v.c  could 


q 


THE    VALLEY   OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


93 


m 


•4 


' '  I   I'M 


riic    Wusl    lirancli   uf   lielluws    I'alls. 


[easily  tlirow  ilown  the  burden    of  life's   cures   and  worrinients,  and   j^ive    up   uurselves    to 
[the  nimance  of  the  i)lace  and  the  delicious  musings  of  the  hour. 

I'loui  White-River  Junction  wc  jjo   to    Ilanovcr,  New   1  lanipshirr,  the    f^reat    attrac- 


■PBP^ii""'^ 


■I 


94 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


tion  of  which  is  Dartmouth   Collefyc,  situated  about   hah*"  a   mile   from    the    Connecticut 
The  buildings  are  ^^rouped  around  a  stjuare,  whose  area  is  twelve  acres,  in  the  centre  i 
the  broad  terrace  upon  which  the  village  has  been  built.      This    institution,  whose  care«| 
has   been   so   honorable  and  prosperous,  was  chartered  by  a  royal  grant  ir   1769,  and  re 
ceived    its    name    from    William,  Earl   of   Dartmouth.      Its   graduates    have    distiufruishcd 
themselves  in  all  the  walks  of  professional  life.      Any  college    from  which    such   men  aj" 
Daniel  Webster  and  Rufus  Choate  have  gone  forth,  may  well  pride  itself  on  account  o( 
its  sons.  >i  ,i 

The  villages   of  Thetford,  Orford,   Bradford,  and   Iiaverhill,  may  detain  w-   for  a  fen  | 

.-s    - 


Mount   Aitcu'ncy. 

hours.  We  sliall  liiul,  in  ail  this  iu-ighi)orhood,  excellent  fiirms,  and  a  busy,  indiistrioii 
population.  In  Orford,  limestone  is  found  at  ihc  lodt  of  a  mountain  some  lour  lumilni 
feet  above  the  Connecticut.  Soapstom-  and  granite  abound,  and  scmie  lead  has  been  dis- 
covered. Bradford  and  Haverhill  were  so  called  because  their  earlier  settlers  cairn- fruni 
towns  of  that  name  on  the  Merrimac,  in  Massachusetts.  The  town  of  Newbury  is  dcli>;hi 
fully  situated  on  the  west  side  of  the  Connecticut  River,  and  com|»rises  the  tract  to  whick 
the  name  of  "The  Great  O.xbow"  has  been  given.  'Iliis  tract,  tm  a  bend  of  the  Con- 
necticut River,  is  of  great  extent,  and  is  well  known  on  accoimt  of  its  rare  l>eaiitv  and 
the  fertility  of   its  soil.      Here  wc  have  one   of  the   most   charming    of  the    many  pinu- 


r»*^i?^#fT..„|t-, 


THE    VALLEY   OF    THE    CONNECTICUT. 


95 


J. 


While-River  Junction. 


Mno«c    llillot'k,    from    Nrwluirv    Mrldowii. 


\       V 


96 


Pit  71  ^RESQUE    AMERICA. 


^1  '  I 


resquc  scenes  whieh  our  artist  has  fTJven  us  of  the  Connecticut.      From  the  meadows  of 
Newbury  is  seen  the  elevation  called    Moose    Hillock.      A  few  miles  north  of  Newbunl 
we  reach  Wells-River  Junction,  whence  the  traveUer,  by  one  line  of  railroad,  goes  totfcei 
White  Mountains,  or,  by  another,  proceeds  to  Montreal.      Not    far   from    this   point  M 
waters  of  the  Ammonoosuck  empty  into  the  Connecticut. 

Our  last  sketch  rei)rescnts  a  scene  in  Barnel,  X'ermont,  one  of  the  best  farmip»j 
towns  in  the  State,  and  abounding  in  slate  and  'ron-ore.  The  water-power  on  the  \\\ 
sumpsic  and  Stevens  Rivers  is  one  of  the  fniest  in  all  this  region.  The  fall  in  Steveml 
River,  of  which  we  have  a  view,  \y  one  hundred  feet  in  the  short  distance  of  Wn  rod*  | 
Not  far  from  tiiis  point  the  river  Passumpsic  discharges  its  waters  into  the  Connecticut  I 
From  this  point  onward  it  bears  the  character  of  a  mountain-stream.  There  aic  several 
pleasant  villages  on  either  side  of  the  river,  as  we  follow  it  up  to  its  very  source  in  tjij 
northern  part  of  New  Hampshire.  The  lover  of  Nature  may  be  sure  of  finding  ,il 
dant  material  to  gratify  his  taste  for  the  sublime  and  the  beautiful  all  through  this  mpi 
pictures(iue  regior 


Slcvcni   Ilruok,   Uunct. 


■..<^J      ■«■ 


:# 


i     I 


r  1 


'  V 


< 


I  •■  ■    ■ll 


tl 


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'Sr  * 


1 


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the 


BALTIMORE    AND    ENVIRONS. 


I     111 


I    M 


!i  I 


ILLUSTRATED    BV    GRANVILLE    PERKINS. 


''HEN  Captain 
John     Smith 
Adventured   upon    the 

iridc    waters    of    the 

"hesa]ieake  Bay  in 
Jwo  frail,  open   boats, 

ve  do  not  find  that 
U  explored  the  broad 
fcstui>r\-  now  known  as 
[he     I'atapsco    River. 

beaten  by  storms  and 
driven  astray  by  ad- 
verse winds,  praying 
and  sintiing  psalms  in 


the  old,  sturdy  Puri- 
tan fashion,  punishing 
rigorously  all  oaths  by 
pouring  a  ean  of  cold 
water  down  the  sleeve, 
he  put  back  hurriedly 
to  Jamestown.  On  a 
second  expedition  he 
entered  the  Potomac 
and  the  Patuxent, 
but  went  no  farther. 
Even  when,  in  1634, 
the  Ark  and  the 
Dove,  after  a  stormy 


'is;>i,,.''<ii*W 


>4Jrr 


-"it^^SB&s 


--.-^>i^-.-J 


^^^'^' 


■  *- "—  --"  1  r?^&:£  I 


^.r'.j 


Washington    Muniuncni. 


#!!Wf(J», 


1" 


98 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


il 

IP 
ill 

i 

ii 

lifjliil! 
iiiil  I 


%'•'» 


!■>.■* 


:  iir 


.!:.i:':;iy' 


i;lliiiiiiliii':il'ii!;!!'::'rf# 


voyage,     landed    the 
Pilgrims  of  Maryland 
at  St.  Clement's  hit 
the   Potomac  was  re- 
garded  as    the   future 
seat    of    govcrnmeni 
The  first  of  the  colo. 
nists  who,  eitiier  over- 
land through  the  wil- 
derness,  or,  as  is  more 
probable,  entering  the 
river    from    the  bav, 
stood    upon    the  fu- 
ture  site  of  Baltimore 
town,     is     unknowi 
No  romantic  legends 
attend  the  city's  birtli 
It  is  certain,  however 
that  it  was  not  until 
some  time  after  1634 
that  the  colonists  ven- 
tured    to     leave   the 
older    towns    on  the 
Potomac     and    hrave 
the  dangers  supposeii 
to  coexist  with  prns- 
imity   to    the  warlike 
8us(iuehannas.    Even 
these  first  settlers  had 
no  forecasting  of  the 
ativantagcs   a  city  at 
the   head  of  such  an 
immense    stretch  o( 
inland     water    would 
offer.     Their  only  de- 
sire   was    to    ill'  OB 
a     navigable    stream, 
where      ships     could 
anchor     with     sifeti 


BALTIMORE    AND    ENVIRONS, 


99 


The      immediate       sur- 

Dundintfs  of  this  shcl- 
lered  co\'e  on  tiie  Pa- 
lapsco  were  nevertheless 
luch  as  to  render  its 
borders  remarkably  at- 
tractive. The  fresh  nat- 
iiral  beauties  of  the  land 

vhich  greeted  and  de- 
lighted those  who  built 
here  ui)on  the  edge  of 
[he  wilderness  are  lost 
to  their  later  descend- 
Uts.  Jones's  Falls, 
vhich  is  now  a  great 
[ind  c\-er-recurring  nui- 
ance,  was  then  a  pure 
itnd  limpid  forest-stream, 

lie  basin  and  the  harbor 
quiet  and  peaceful  as 
any  for    island-shore    in 
[he    depths    of    ocean. 
The  woods  came  tlown 
[o  the  water's  edge  and 
blollu'd  the  broken  hills 
Ihat    lise,  interlaced   by 
[mall  but  ra|)id  streams 
into     tiie     interior. 
3o    even    without    that 
traordinary     foresight 
t)f  future    growth    with 
vhich    some    historians 
vould  endow  the  found- 
ers of  the  city,  they  had 

D(k1  and  sufficient  rea- 

oiis    for     tiieir    choice. 

lere,  then,  in  the  lat- 
kcr  p;iit  of  the  seven- 
Iteenlh   century,  the  va- 


"^^  J*™**  isw-^^rsf^i^sr.'ir'  vr-  ■ 


i -I 


lOO 


PICTURHSOUE    AMERICA. 


*« 


r. 


li 


rioiis    "  points "    and   "  necks "   wliicli    run    out   sliarply    into   the    river    were    successiveli 
l)atente(l.      Prosaic    Jonestown    arose,    tlie    chief  production    of   whicli,  judginjr    from  t|if  j 
old    maps,    appears    to    have    been    ahnost    j)rcternaturally    symmetrical    rows    of  tlounsli. 
in<r   cahhatres.      Huge    hogsheads   of  tobacco,  stoutly    hooped,  and    with    an    axle   drivcii 
through    the    middle    so    as    to    form    a    huge    roller,   and    drawn    by    horses    driven  bv 
negroes,  were   trundled   over   what   are   still    known    as   "  rolling    roads "   to   town ;  Houf.  I 
ishing  mills,  tanneries,  and  other  manufacturing  industries,  soon  became  established ;  trade 
with  the  neighboring    States    and  with    the  West    Indies    increased ;   and  with   this  pro^. 
perity  came  the  demand  that  the  name    of  Jonestown    be    discarded,  and    the   cities  ca^ 
and  west  of  the  r'alls  be  consolidated  under  a   new  title,  that   of  the    first   proprietary--  j 
Lortl  Baltimore.     A  jiicture  of  this  worthy  gentleman  exists   in  Washington,  painted  bv 
V'andyck.     It  was  bartered  off  by  a  Legislature  of  Maryland  for  a  series  of  portraits  of 
tlie  early  governors  by  Pealc.     This  sponsor  of  the  city  could  not  but  have  been  a  con.  ■ 
spicuous  figure  at  a  brilliant  court.     His  portrait  is  that  of  a  man  tall  and  finely  formed: 
his  smallclothes  are  of  blue  velvet,  the  coat  embroidered  elaborately,  having  open  sleeves 
lined  with    blue   silk,  and    b.ocaded    in    the   same    color;   his  doublet    is  worked   in  gold 
and    colors ;    his   sash    is   of  orange   silk ;    his    breastplate    of  blue    steel,  inlaid ;  and  tlit  \ 
broad    sash    annnid    his   waist    shows    above    it   the  hilt  of  a  sword  studded  with  jewels 
I  le    wears    the    heavy    i)o\vdered   wig   of  his   times,  and    black    shoes  with    box-toes  and 
gold  buckles.     Such,  in  rich  array,  as  bodied  fo.th  by  the  hand  of  a  master,  is  the  statdv 
liguiv    of   Lord    Baltimore,    the    city's    patron.      There  were    fitness   and    propriety  in  tk 
choice  other  than  that  of  historic  gratitude.      Baltimore  was  long   an    English    i>rovincial 
town  in  many  of  its  characteristics.     In  its  society  the  founder  of  Maryland  would  have 
been  at  his  case,     (rcntlemen  of  the  old  school,  its  citizens  danced  their  solemn  niinueK 
anil   cotillons ;   talked    much,  but  read    little ;   and  were   eminently    sociable,  kind-hearted, 
hospitable,  antl  happy  in  the  repose  of  unhurried  lives.     It  was  a  picturesque  dar  for  tlie 
city  when   gallants    wore   the    three-cornered    cocked-hat,    powdered    hair    and   cue;  coat! 
many- pocketed,    narrow,   light -colored,    and   curiously  embroidered;   smallclothes,  striped 
stockings,  and  shoes  with  wide  silver  buckles.     And  then  the    ladies,  witty,  sprightly,  jrav 
— the    Carrolls,    the    Catons,    the    Pattersons,   the    Ridgeleys,   and    their   fair   companions, 
From  that  time  to  this  Baltimore  has   never   lost    its    re|)utation    for   the   beaut\'  and  ai- 
tractiveness   of  its    women,    nor    for   the    hospitality    and    cordial,   frank    courtesy  of  ik 
homes  they  grace. 

\\\'  tind  in  a  scarce  pamjihlct  by  a  pleasant  writer,  who  visited  Baltimore  just 
before  the  War  of  1812:  "It  is  com|)Uted  that  the  city  under  the  general  name  ol 
Baltimore  contains  forty  thousand  inhabitants.  The  people  of  opulence  seem  to  cnjui 
the  good  things,  and  even  the  lu.xuries  of  life,  with  greater  gotit  than  their  neighbors  lo 
the  eastward ;  the  savoir  vivre  is  well  understood ;  and  their  markets,  of  coirse,  art 
yearly  imprt)ving  in  almost  every  article  that  adds  to  the  comfort  and  splendor  of  the  table,' 


ics,  striiid 
•ifj;litly,  pv 
xnnpanioE 
iut\'  and  ;«■ 
CSV  of  the 


I02 


PIC  TURESQ UE    A M ERICA. 


Market  —  now  lialti- 
morc — Street  was,  in  the 
time  of  whicli  we  are 
speaking,  the  favorite  prom- 
enade. Then  the  avciiuf 
was  resplendent  with 
"  dames  and  damsels  — 
some  with  hooped-skirts; 
some  in  brocade,  luxuri- 
ously displayed  over  hoops, 
with  comely  bodices  sup- 
ported by  stays,  disclosing 
|)erilous  waists,  and  with 
sleeves  that  clung  to  the 
arm  as  far  as  the  elbow, 
where  they  were  lost  in 
ruffles  that  stood  off  like 
feathers  on  a  bantam.  And, 
Lhen,  such  faces — so  rosv, 
spirited,  and  sharp  —  with 
the  hair  drawn  over  a  cush- 
ion, tight  enough  to  lift 
the  eyebrows  with  a  slight 
curve,  giving  a  somewhat 
scornful  expression  to  the 
countenance  ;  and  cuds 
that  fell  in  cataracts  over 
the  shoulders.  Then  they 
stepped  along  with  a 
mincing  gait,  in  shoes  of 
many  colors,  with  formida- 
ble points  at  the  toes,  and 
high,  tottering  heels,  deli- 
cately cut  in  wood,  and 
in  towering  peaked  hats, 
garnished  with  feathers  tiiat 
swayed  aristocratically  back- 
ward and  forward  at  lach 
step,  us  if  they  took  pride 


mssBK 


BALTIMORE    AND    ENVIRONS. 


103 


i„  tlio  stately  pace  of  the  wearer."  In  the  muddy  ruts  of  the  iinpavcd  streets,  great, 
clumsy,  capacious  Conestoga  wagons  rumbled  past,  drawn  by  teams  of  the  finest  draught- 
horses  in  the  country.  They  were  bound  for  the  old  inns,  with  spacious  enclosed  yards 
aiul  swinging  signs,  a  few  of  which,  ])eculiarly  English,  and  comically  out  of  place,  still 
refuse  to  be  improved  off  the  city  streets.  At  night  the  oil-lamps  threw  yellow  gleams 
over  the  gallo])ing  gallants  who  came  in  from  the  family  seats  on  the  neighboring  hills 
to  attend  the  balls  at  the  old  Assembly  Rooms,  still  standing  at  the  corner  of  Ilolliday 
and  Fayette  Streets. 

The  town  grew  slowly.  For  a  long  time  large  swami)S  existed  on  the  low  grounds, 
and  l)ul  few  of  the  streets  ran  down  fairly  to  the  harbor.  Where  is  now  Centre-Market 
Space,  near  the  centre  n  t'.p  city,  one  vast  cjuagmire  spread  its  uninviting  extent.  As 
the  limits  of  the  town  touched  the  bold  hills  cjf  Charles  Street,  the  prospect  for  health 
and  comfort  was  better.  When  the  city  had  once  firmly  planted  itself  on  this  plateau,  it 
began  slowly  to  thrust  out  its  streets  into  the  neighboring  country.  Old  wooden  build- 
in<TS,  dozing  in  shady  seclusion  by  the  side  of  some  narrow  lane,  would  find  themselves 
suddenly  in  the  embrace  of  pretentious  briek-and-mortar,  and  there  many  of  them  still 
are  einl)almed,  with  steep,  gabled  hip-roofs,  moss-grown  and  bleached. 

While  the  business-life  of  the  ;ity  still  centred  around  the  wharves,  the  fashionable 
(luarter  was  constantly  changing.  Starting  along  the  Falls,  it  came  by  the  way  of  Lom- 
hard  Street  to  H  rison — now  redolent  of  Jews'  shops,  old  clothes,  and  rusty  iron — to 
(lav.  There  it  remained  stationary  until  it  spread  into  Lexington,  North,  and  Calvert 
Streets,  with  outlying  suburbs  in  Barrd,  Conway,  and  Sharp  Streets,  to  the  west  and 
east,  and  Franklin  Street  to  the  nor^h. 

When,  however,  in  181 2,  the  pure  white  shaft  of  the  Washington  Monument  rose 
in  Howard  Park,  it  drew,  like  a  magnet  of  supernatural  proportions,  the  finest  ])rivate 
(hvellings  around  it  in  four  parallelograms  facing  the  four  grass  plots  that  radiate  from  it. 
The  city  surmounted  at  one  leap  the  steep  depression  of  Centre  Street,  and  occu])ied  at 
once  the  second  plateau. 

As  was  usual  with  our  forefathers,  when  they  had  any  scheme  of  public  interest  and 
more  than  usual  magnitude  to  manage,  a  lottery  was  the  primary  means  of  raising  funds 
for  the  erection  of  the  monument.  A  lotter}',  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  was  then  a 
perfectly  legitimate  transaction  as  well  as  a  pecuniarily  profitable  one.  Meavy  wagons 
lirought  the  now  well-known  Maryland  marble  sixteen  miles  over  a  rough  road  from 
Black  Rock,  on  the  Gunpowder  River. 

The  design  of  the  monument  is  simjile  and  effective.  The  pedestal  is  fifty  feet 
siiuare  by  thirty-five  in  height.  Around  this  a'c  briefly  recorded  the  most  notable  events 
in  the  life  of  Washington.  From  it  rises  majestically,  brilliantly  clear,  polished,  and 
white,  the  round  shaft,  for  one  hundred  and  sixty  feet,  and  crowning  its  ea|)ped  dome  is 
the  figure  of  Washington,  of  heroic  size,  holding  in  his  hand  the  scroll  of  his  "  Farewell 


i      i  V . 


i% 


BALTIMORE    AND    ENVIRONS. 


105 


Address,"  delivered  in  the  Senate-Chamber  of  the  State-House  at  Annapolis.  A  wind- 
iiitr,  dark,  stone  stairway  leads  to  the  top,  and  the  visitor  is  provided  with  a  lantern 
when  about  to  make  the  long  and  tedious  ascent.  The  view  of  the  city  and  Patapsco 
is  peculiar  and  far-reaching,  but  is  almost  a  bird's-eye  down-look,  and  loses  in  effective- 
ness. Below  is  an  innumerable  multitude,  a  sea,  of  roofs,  from  which,  like  masts,  rise 
the  spires  of  the  churches,  the  pointed  pinnacles  of  public  buildings,  and,  like  huge  iron- 
clads, the  glittering  rounded  metal  roofs  of  the  machine-shops  and  market-halls.  To  the 
north  and  west  the  hills  arc  dotted  with  villages  and  isolated  dwellings,  or  are  heavy 
with  forest-growth.  To  the  south  the  Patapsco  stretches  far  away  to  the  bay,  and  on  a 
ck';)r  day  the  glittering  spire  of  the  State-House  at  Annapolis,  forty  miles  distant,  can  be 
seen.  The  configuration  of  the  land-locked  harbor  is  especially  well  defined,  the  Spring 
(hardens  to  the  right,  the  inner  and  outer  harbor  in  the  middle  ground,  the  various 
nr)ints  and  necks,  and  the  wharves  and  manufactures  of  Canton  to  the  extreme  left. 

Any  idea  of  Baltimore  would  be  nevertheless  incomplete  without  a  better  watcr- 
vicw.  Two  prominent  points  afford  thi.s.  Patterson  Park  is  in  East  Baltimore.  Here 
still  remain  the  earthworks  thrown  up  in  the  War  of  181 2,  when  the  British  landed  at 
North  Point,  twelve  miles  below.  Patterson  Park  was  formerly  known  by  the  less  al- 
literative and  euphonious  name  of  Loudenslager's  Hill.  It  was  a  sop  to  Cerberus,  the 
many-headed  being,  represented  by  the  people  of  East  Baltimore,  or  Old  Town,  or  the 
city  east  of  the  Falls,  who  were  dissatisfied  with  the  appropriation  for  Druid-Hill  Park 
lieyond  the  western  limits  of  the  city,  and  some  si.x  miles  distant.  The  park  is  a  great 
resort  of  the  beau.x  and  belles  of  East  Baltimore,  and  many  an  offer  of  a  row  on  its 
lake  of  a  soft  summer's  evening  carries  off  the  lady,  by  no  means  reluctant,  fre)ni  the 
side  of  her  more  timid  but  watchful  mother. 

Federal  Hill,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  harbor,  is  better  known  outside  of  the  city 
than  Patterson  Paik.  To  many  the  name  will  suggest  interesting  reminiscences  of  the 
wai.  The  fortifications  then  constructed  still  remain,  although  guns  from  their  embrasures 
110  longer  threaten  the  city,  and  from  the  llag-staff  and  station  shown  in  the  engraving 
(he  lliig  of  war  has  been  su|iersede(l  by  the  peaceful  emblems  of  commercial  prosperity. 
As  the  signals  go  up  with  their  familiar  letters,  it  is  kno^'n  to  the  pilots  that  a  ship  is 
in  the  oiling.  A  pulT  of  smoke  rises  in  the  harbor,  ai.  .,  .ith  cjuick,  short  snorts  from 
her  iH)werl'ul  engine,  a  |)ert,  saucy  little  lug  goes  out  on  the  chance  of  a  low. 

Below  Federal  Hi'l  lies  Fort  McHenry,  and  eight  miles  down  the  river  the  round, 
while,  and  unfinished  walls  of  Fort  Carroll  rise  above  the  water  from  Sollei's  IHals.  A 
prisoner  on  board  a  British  man-of-war,  Francis  Scott  Key  here  wrtile  the  national 
"•ong  of  the  "Star-Spangled  Banner."  The  flag  that  then  waved  over  the  fort  is  still  in 
the  possession  of  a  descendant  of  Colonel  .\rmistead.  The  original  Hag  was  thirty-si.x 
feet  long,  with  fifteen  stripes  and  fifteen  st  irs.  One  of  llv  stars  has  been  cut  out  and 
given  away.     On  one  of  the  white  stripes  is  written  tiie  name  of  Colonel  George  .\nni- 


io6 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


I 


'I  m  ^1  r'-<ttri£  f 


s*:? 


i 


Uruid-lliil   I'ark. 


stead,  who  commaiuleil  llu-  AnuTican  f  trct's  durinji  the  l)()ml)ai(lmcnt.  The  piiiitn-lxiv 
will)  put  the  famous  sonir  in  tvpc  still  -jiilv,  iS;^ — survives,  anJ  the  paper  in  whiiii  it 
was  pultlished  yet  exists.  It  has  onh  l;een,  indeed,  within  a  few  yean;  that  the  l)iiii>-li 
ship  Minden  •  Noard  of  whieh  it  was  eomposed,  was  hroken  up  as  heyt)nd  service 
Iler  timliers  ijrerlv  Itoujiht   lis    Anierieans  as  rehes. 

I'rom  .lu  .  ..  •■  most  atrri-e.ilile  nu'tliod  of  jreltin^j  hack  to  the  eity  is  by  enL^;ii;in;; 
on<'  of  the  lialf-,.ii;j.,i'l)ious  yo'.m);  watermen  thai  plv  l)etwe<'n  the  eitv  and  the  npiiosite 
^;hore.  \\\  tl\is  means  the  wide,  sweepinjf  front  of  tlie  h.irhor  is  seen.  I  he  water-line  is 
c.Nceodinulv  irre^rular,  and  the  wharves  are  thrust  out  side  liv  side  like  the  |»rojcctinu  cou'' 
of  some  vast  wheel.  Many  of  these  wharves  are  very  old  as  old  .is  the  city  itself  in  lact 
Thev  aie  kncwn  In  the  name  of  the  person  who  built  them —as  Howly's  Wharf,  S|)car!> 
Wharf,  or  Smith's  Wharf  The  present  trade  of  the  port  is  beeominn  loo  jrreat  for  their 
eapaeitv.  -njrer  faeiliti«-s  are  slowly  cominn  into  use.  At  Locust  Point  the  entetprisini; 
Haltimore  n\C  Ohio  ({ailroad  has  built  an  iujinensc  |)ier  nid  urain-elevator — one  i if  the 
finest   in  the   I'niled  Stales     for  its  vast  business.     Merc  the   Hremen  steamers  land  thif 


BALTIMORE    AND    ENVIRONS. 


107 


fici^^ht  and  passengers,  while  the  immigrants  for  the  West  are  taken  at  once  on  board 
the  cars  and  shipped  to  their  destination.  Coming  farther  up  the  river,  all  tb-:  peculiari- 
ties of  the  harbor  can  be  seen.  Behind  us  is  Fort  McHenry;  to  the  left  is  Federal 
Hill,  with  its  signals  flying;  to  the  right  is  the  wide  expanse  of  the  river,  the  numerous 
maniifacturing  industries  that  crowd  the  shore  of  the  Canton  Company.  In  front  is  a 
confused  and  blended  mass  of  buildings — first,  the  factories  and  warehouses ;  then,  more 
iiihuid,  the  spires  of  churches;  and  the  outlines,  the  mere  suggestions,  of  private  dwell- 
in<rs.  Covering  the  water,  the  bay  and  its  tributaries  have  sent  up  a  peculiar  class  of 
sailing-craft ;  oystcr-pungies  ;;nd  the  swift-sailing  market-boats — there  are  no  better  sailers 
am  where  than  these  low,  rakish  vessels — bay-steamers,  and  the  crowd  of  sail-boats  that 
|)h  on  the  Patapsco  and  the  inland  waters  of  Maryland  and  Virginia ;  the  ocean-steam- 
ships and  tlie  South-American  traders,  whose  battered  sides  and  dingy  sails  bear  witness 
to  a  long  voyage;  and  shijis  that  come  from  ports  along  the  Atlantic  coast  from  Maine 
to  i'lo'ida. 

So  deep  is  the  indentation  of  the  harbor,  from  Light  Street  to  the  Maryland  In- 
stitute, si.x  scjuares  distant,  tliat  tiic  boats  run  up  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the 
centre  of  the  city.  The  regular  landing-place  is  near  the  Institute,  and  a  walk  up 
Lombard  Street  opens  the  vista  of  K.xchange  Place  and  the  Custom-House.  This  may 
l>e  called  the  commercial  centre  of  Baltimore.  To  be  on  I-lxchange  Place  is  to  be,  in 
the  majority  of  cases,  a  merchant  of  standing  and  credit.  The  Custom-House  cost  a 
large  amount  of  money,  is  imposing,  and  worth  a  glance. 

Passing  out  of  I'.xchange  Place  and  through  South  jtreet— devoted  to  brokers, 
hankers,  and  insurance  agents — into  Baltimore  Street,  and  in  one  short  stjuare  the  rest- 
less stream  of  greatest  travel  is  met.  More  persons  jjass  the  corner  of  Baltimore  and 
Calvert  Streets  in  the  course  of  the  day  than  over  any  other  s|)ot  in  the  city.  Near  hen 
are  the  largest  hotels,  and  seen  in  the  jierspective  of  the  sketch  is  the  Battle  Monu- 
ment, erected  to  those  who  fell  in  the  War  of  1.S12.  To  the  left  is  Barnum's,  of  gas- 
tronomic fame,  where  guests  are  supposed,  from  the  city's  special  celebrity,  to  tline  day 
ill  and  (lav  out  on  turtle  and  terrapin,  (Chesapeake  oysters,  and  soft-erabs. 

Here,  also,  the  hackman  hovers.  It  is  a  curious  custom,  dating  from  the  first  ordi- 
iiaiiies  ol  the  eitv,  that  certain  hack-stands  are  established.  It  has  become  so  much  a 
light,  liv  use  from  time  immemorial,  that,  although  the  hacks  standing  aiound  Battle 
Monument  mar  tb"  appearance  of  the  stpiare,  the  privilege  has  never  been  interfered 
with  I',  the  authorities.  If  accosted,  as  will  inevitably  he  the  case,  if  the  (piick-trained 
eve  of  I  he  hackman  discovers  a  stranger,  with  the  offer  of  a  conveyance,  which  the 
world  over  invariablv  follows  such  recognition,  let  it  be  remembered  that  Druid-Hill 
Park  is  too  distant  for  the  most  vigorous  pedestrian,  but  is  a  pleasuie-ground  of  which 
the  citizens  are  justly  proud,  and  j)ne  by  no  means  to  be  neglected  by  the  visitor. 

In  the  vear   11X58  old  Lloyd  Rogers  was  in    sccun-  possession    of  an   ancestral   estate 


t 


limi 


.:ll,W*n;'l«.?- 


1 08 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Hi 


on  the  northern  suburbs  ol"  the  city.  It  had  been  in  the  family  since  the  Revolution 
and  the  first  owner,  an  ofiicer  in  the  Revolutionary  Army,  was  a  man  of  taste.  Some 
recollection  of  the  parks  and  lawns,  the  stately  trees  and  wide  avenues  of  English  coun- 
try-scUs  led  him  to  lay  out  his  grounds  with  admirable  judgment.  So  year  after  year 
the  rugged,  gnarled  oaks,  the  symmetrical  chestnuts,  the  straight  and  well-massed  hickories 
and  the  tall,  dome-like  poplars,  grew  in  shape  and  form  to  please  the  artistic  eye.  Down 
in  the  valleys  and  on  the  iiill-slopes  the  untended  forest-growth  covered  the  rich  soil  in 
tangled  luxuriance.  Mr.  Lloyd  Rogers  was  an  old  man  when  he  died,  and  resided 
almost  alone  on    the    ])lace.      Latterly  he    had    given    little    thought    to    its    impro\rnient. 


Hampden   KolU. 

The  family  mansion  was  sadiv  in  need  of  repair,  and  the  barns  and  out-buildings  were 
leaky  and  dilajtidated.  The  whole  place  had  the  appearance  of  having  been  given  o'er 
to  neglect  and  decav.  When  the  commissioners  appointed  to  select  a  tract  of  ImikI  v, 
form  i.  park  for  the  rapidly-growing  city  offered  what  was  then  a  high  |)riee  li.i  this 
place,  the  offer  was  aeeei)ted.  I'nblie  opinion,  hitherto  tlivided  as  to  the  pro|)er  locution, 
crystalli/ed  at  once  in  favor  of  the  purchase.  So  manifold  were  the  advantages,  s.  j;real 
the  natural  beauties  of  the  estate,  that  dissent  from  its  fitness  was  impossible. 

Druid-Hill   Park  lies  immediatelv  on  the  northern  suburbs  of  the  city,  and  eniliraces 
nearly  seven  hundred   acres   of  weli-diversilied   surface.     Steep,  wooded   hills   rise  to  two 


BALTIMORE    AND    ENVIRONS. 


109 


hundred  feet  above  tide,  giving  glimpses  of  the  surrounding  country,  and  views  of  the 
city  and  the  river.  Quiet,  sequestered  dells,  and  cool,  shaded  valleys,  watered  by  streams 
uid  rejoicing  in  springs  of  the  purest  water;  drives  that  wind  through  meadows  and 
woods;  bridle-paths  and  foot-ways  that  seldom  leave  the  welcome  shadow  of  the  trees, 
render  the  park  one  of  great  rural  beauty  and  sylvan  seclusion.  It  is  indeed  not  a 
made  show-ground,  but  a  park  with  all  a  park's  natural  attractiveness  of  wood  and  water, 
<nassy  lawns,  with  branching  shade-trees  and  avenues  that  are  lost  in  fr-rest-depths.  All  the 
architectural  ornamentation  is  brought  together  around  the  central  point — the  old  family 
mansion,  now  restored  and  enlarged.     This  is  the  favorite  place  of  meeting  of  those  who 


Jones's    Kails. 


ride  or  drive  from  the  city.  About  twiligl)t  of  tlie  evenings  of  early  summer  or  autumn 
ilie  scene  is  at  its  brightest,  and  horses  and  carriages,  carrying  much  of  the  beauty  and 
wealth  of  Baltimore,  shift  and  change  with  incessant  motion.  The  favorite  drive  is  around 
by  Woodberry,  a  sturdy  little  town  of  recent  growth,  and  Prospect  1 1  ill,  and  back  by  the 
storage-reservoir  of  Druid  Lake.  On  the  api)r()ach  to  the  while  tower  at  the  bead  of  this 
lake,  the  upper  part  of  the  city  gradually  comes  into  view.  To  the  right  is  Druid  Lake, 
King  too  low  to  be  much  affected  by  the  prevailing  winds,  but  stirring  and  simmering  in 
its  restless  motion,  glassy  and  reflective,  siiedding  the  light  as  a  mirror  set  in  rock.  To 
the  left  runs  the  Northern  Central  Kaiiroad  around  an  abrupt  curve.      The  fureground  is 


^.I'.t^'ji^'TV^  V  >^«^.;!^^- 


'  '".-i"'  ~:-ri5->?>>^  ^^V.*>:'-  : 


no 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


;i* 


I  1 


cut  up  by  deep,  gravelly  ravines ;  the  eminence  on  whieii  stands  the  Mount-Royal  Reser- 
voir; and,  immodiatelv  in  front  of  the  distant  suburbs,  the  depression  of  North  liouiuian- 
Avenue.  The  town  beyond  is  trinfretl  by  the  outlyin.u  spires  of  the  churches  uimii  the 
northern  suburbs ;  for  this  northwest  section  is  a  perfect  nest  of  churches.  They  eniin;,ate 
here    by    twos   and    threes    frop'.    OKI    Town,  or    East    Baltimore,  drawn    by  the  constant 


Mill   (in    [oncs's    I'.ills. 


migration  of  the  memluis  of  their  eonirrogations  to  the  north  and  westward.  It  is  nnlv 
a  small  scijinent  of  lialtiniorc  tiial  i^  here  seen,  although  the  distant  view  of  tiu'  ii\ri  is 
vcrv  extended.  In  this  direction  ilie  town  is  incR'asing  most  rapidly,  and,  like  some  luiin' 
dragon,  eating  awav  the  green  fields  of  the  country  Mefore  these  words  are  many  Mars 
old  ^hc  streets,  the  dwellings,  all    the    unpicturcsqueiiess   of  lamp    and    telegraph   p<>li ,  ul 


BALTIMORE    AND    ENVIRONS. 


Ill 


liut  a  link,  and  whicli  sii|iplit's  tlu-  citv 
wiili    |nii('  water,  cxti'iids    lhn)Uj;ih    our- 


l.,iki'    Kolaml. 


tl 


u;    inosi 


IllMll 


tifiil 


portions   of   this    lirokcn   country.      Druid    Lake    itsrlf  is    i)ut    a 


storajre-lakc-,    with    the    capacity    to    afford    tlic    cilv,    if    needful,    sixtv    davs' 


consumption. 


Nearer  liie  ei(y  lies  Mount-Royal  Reservoir,  and,  ahove,  llain|)den  Reservoir.  We  now 
follow  Jones's  I'alls,  \iliicii  presents  us  with  sonic  water-views — llaniiKlen  I-'alls,  and  the 
Cotton  Mills  of   Mount  \\Mnon     little  sketches  that   are  hut  suji^estive  t)i|)cs;   and  then 


I      ;H 


112 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


we  come  to  Lake  Roland,  clasped  in  the  embrace  of  bold  hills,  and  winding,  river-like, 
around  jutting  peninsulas.  It  is  a  charming  scene.  In  the  fresh,  dewy  sparkle  of  carlv 
morning,  or  in  the  soft  closing-in  of  the  evening  shadows,  it  is  beautiful  in  varying 
moods  as  the  ever-changing,  ever-new  face  of  the  waters  answers  to  the  drifting  clouds' 
the  heavy  hill  shadows,  the  trees  that  sentinel  its  margin,  or  come  down  a  disorderlv 
irregular  troop  to  mirror  themselves  in  its  bosom ;  or  to  the  fitful  caprices  of  Nature 
around,  now  bright  with  glint  and  gleam  of  sun  or  stars ;  now  sombre  and  murkv  under 
driving  winds  and  masses  of  low,  drifting  clouds,  pelting  with  the  rain,  as  with  f.iljinff 
shot,  tiie  gray  surface. 

The  lake  is  very  deceptive  as  to  size,  as  only  bits  of  it  can  be  seen  from  anv  one 
|)oint.  The  official  .neasurement  gives  it  seven  miles  in  circumference  and  a  mile  and  a 
half  in  length.  Even  this,  the  fifth  in  the  series,  is  not  the  last  of  the  complicated 
system  by  which  the  Baltimore  \V\itcr-works,  costing  over  five  million  dollars,  are  ren- 
dered efficient.  Seven  miles  farther  up,  where  the  Gunpowder  River  cuts  its  way  be- 
tween two  narrow  hills,  is  derived,  by  means  of  expensive  works,  a  supplementary  supply 


^>cene  on   Lake   Koland. 


BALTIMORE    AND    ENVIRONS. 


I '3 


\et  to  become  one  of  the  principal  sources  \x\-"^.  which  the  city  will  depend,  by  an 
a(|iicduct  ten  miles  long  Pardon  us  for  being  statistical  for  a  moment,  as  thereby  we 
can   l)est   show  the    extent    of  the    present  works.      Druid    Lake    has   a   capacity  of  four 


Lake    Roland  Dam. 


luiiiilivd  and  twenty  million  gallons;  Lake  Roland,  three  hundred  and  twenty-live  mill- 
ion-;; Hampden  Reservoir,  fifty-two  millions;  Mount-Royal  Reservoir,  thirty-two  mill- 
inns;  and  a  new  high-service  reservoir,  twenty-seven  millions.  The  Gunpowder  works, 
w  lien  completed,  will  be  capable  of  sujiplying  the  city  with  more  than  three  times  the 
(liuintit\-  now  given  by  Jones's  Falls  and  Roland's  Run. 


l.nke    Roland   aliove   the    Up.ii. 


All  the  streams  around  Baltimore  afford  scenes  of  much  (juiet  beauty.  Herring 
Run  to  the  cast  has  been  honored  bv  the  brush  of  more  than  one  artist ;  and  Gwynn's 
I'alls,  a  ra[)id  stream   to   the  west,  presents    many  quaint    old    mills    on    its    banks,  which 


114 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


seem  to  have  fallen  asleep  listening  to  the  ceaseless  monotone  of  the  waters  flowing 
past.  Reminiscences  these  gabled,  steep-roofed,  weather-worn,  of  the  time  not  lonjr  after 
the  Revolution,  when  Baltimore  was  the  largest  Hour-market  in  the  United  States.  The 
Patapsco,  in  what  is  known  as  the  North  Branch,  is  also  a  favorite  skctching-mounj, 
With  all  their  beauty  these  streams  are  at  times  terrible  agencies  of  destruction.  Down 
they  come,  bearing  every  thing  before  their  resistless  force,  those  freshets  and  Hoods  of 
which    the    history  of  the  city  records  many.     At   the    Maryland  Institute   is   a   mark  of 


I'Ik'    I'.itapsco   at    Ilchcstei. 


■•i 


the  height  of  the  Hood  of  1868,  si.\  feet  from  the  street,  and  the  water  backed  up  to 
within  one  square  of  the  centre  of  the  city.  An  impassable  barrier  was  suddenlv  thrust 
between  East  and  West  Baltimore — all  the  bridges  over  the  Falls  were  swept  off— hcavv 
stone  mills  went  down  with  a  crash — wooden  buildings  were  undermiiied,  whirled  round, 
and  carried  away,  and  many  lives  were  lost. 

The  charge  that   Baltimore,  while  an  elevated,  beautiful,  remarkably  clean,  and  untx- 
ceptionally    heulthy    city,   possesses    but    few    places    of  striking   interest,    has    been   often 


BALTIMORE    AND    ENVIRONS. 


"5 


made.  It  is  unjiisl  now,  as  tlie  pencil  of  Mr.  Perkins  has  proved,  and  in  a  few  years  it 
will  he  but  fair  to  presume  that  it  will  cease  to  be  uttered.  In  addition  to  the  objects 
(if  asthetic  or  historic  interest  thought  suitable  in  the  preceding  pages  for  the  purposes 
(if  the  artist,  the  Potomac  Tunnel,  of  the  Baltimore  and  Potomac  Railway,  and  the 
I  nioii  Tunnel,  of  the  Canton  Company,  are  surpassed  only  by  the  more  famou.i  Hoosic, 
and  <nraie  the  city  underground  to  the  north  and  east.  Ly  the  generosity  of  Johns 
Iloj)kins,  a  university,  complete  in  all  its  departments,  endowed  with  more  than  five  mill- 
idii  dollars,  and  attached  to  which  will  be  a  park  of  si.x  hundred  acres,  has  been  already 
secured.  The  harbor  channel  has  been  deepened,  so  that  the  largest  class  of  vessels  now 
come  up  to  the  wharves ;  and,  before  long,  a  shi])-canal  will  be  cut  across  Maryland  and 
Delaware  to  the  ocean,  and  the  voyage  to  Eurojjc  be  shortened  two  days.  From  four 
to  five  million  dollars  are  to  be  spent  on  Jones's  Falls ;  the  stream  will  be  straightened, 
lldods  rendered  harmless,  and  what  is  now  an  unsightly  ditch  will  then,  it  is  ho])ed,  be 
ail  ornament  to  the  city.  Within  a  year  the  City  Hall  will  be  completed,  and  be  one 
(if  tiie  finest  municipal  structures  in  the  United  States,  occupying  an  entire  square  and 
facing  four  streets,  with  walls  of  white  Maryland  marble,  and  in  height,  from  the  ground 
to  the  to|)  of  the  dome,  one  hundred  and  seventy-two  feet. 


I ■'  V 


' 


¥ 

1 

i-                            1 

\ 

Scene   un    llie   Patapsco. 


m 


THE    CATSKILLS, 


n 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS     BV     II  A  R  K  V     FliNN. 


'■«iai» 


BOUT  one  hundred  mid 
forty    miles     from    the 
sea,  on  the  western  bank  of  the 
Hudson,    the    ehain     of    nioim- 
tains  which,  under  various  names,  stretch- 
es from  the  banks   of  the   St.  Lawrence 
-  to  Georgia  and  Tennessee,  throws  out  a 
broken  link  toward  the  east.     Clustering 
closely    together,    these    isolated    mountains,    to    wldcli   the 
early    Dutch    settlers   gave    the    name    of    "  Catskills,"    ajiproach 
within    eight    miles    of    the    river,    and,    like    an    advanced  bas- 
tion   of    tlie    great    rocky    wall,    command    the    vallev    for    a    considerable    disamce,  and 
form    one   of  the    most    striking   features    in   the    landscape.      On    the   western    side,  they 


THE    CATSKILLS. 


117 


slope  frradually  toward  the  central  part  of  the  State  of  New  York,  running  off 
into  spurs  and  ridges  in  every  direction.  (3n  the  eastern,  however,  they  rise  abruptly 
liom  the  valley  to  a  height  of  more  than  four  thousand  feet,  resembling,  when  looked 
at  from  the  river,  a  gigantic  fist  with  the  palm  downward,  the  peaks  representing 
the  knuckles,  and  the  glens  and  cloves  the  spaces  between  them.  Thus  separated  from 
tlicir  kindred,  and  pushed  forward  many  miles  in  advance  of  them,  they  overlook  a  great 
extent  of  country,  affording  a  wider  and  more  varied  view  than  many  a  point  of  far 
tricatcr  elevation.  Indeed,  fnjin  few  places,  even  among  the  Alps  of  Switzerland,  does 
the  traveller  see  beneath  him  a  greater  range  of  hill  and  valley;  and  yet  many  an  Amer- 
ican stands  on  the  summit  of  the  Righi,  rapt  in  admiration  of  the  wonderful  prospect, 
iiXiiorant  that  a  view  nearly  as  extensive,  and  in  many  respects  as  remarkable,  may  be 
found  in  one  of  the  earliest-settled  parts  of  his  own  country !  Nor  are  the  Catskill 
Mountains   famous   only  for  this   celebrated  bird's-eye  view.      They  contain    some    of   the 


;5#«¥# 


f(^"' 


View  of   MouiUain.s    from    L'reck,   C'.Tlskilt-MniiiUain    Koail. 

most  picturcs(]ue  bits  of  mountain-scenery  in  the  world.  The  beauties  of  tlie  Clove  and 
the  Falls  of  the  Kauterskill  have  been  immortalized  by  Irving  and  Cooper  and  Bryant, 
passing  into  tlie  classics  of  American  literature,  and  awakening  in  the  genius  of  Cole  its 
loftiest  inspiration.  After  such  illustrators,  the  task  of  describing  the  charms  of  this 
beautiful  group  of  mountains  would  seem  to  be  as  difficidt  as  the  attempt  were  pre- 
sumptuous; but  a  {^w  notes  may,  perhaps,  be  useful  in  explanation  of  some  of  the 
sketches  made  by  Mr.  I*\Min  in  this  shrine  of  summer  pilgrimage. 

It  was  mid-August  when  we  started  for  (he  Catskills.  Though  it  was  early  when 
we  left  New-^'ork  City,  no  air  was  stirring,  and  the  hot  morning  gave  promise  of  a 
hotter  day.  The  train  steameil  out  of  the  huge  depot  into  the  glare  of  the  l  ,y  sunlight, 
and  the  dust  began  to  whirl  up  beneath  the  wheels  in  a  white,  dry  cloud.  We  have 
rushed  with  lightning-speed  along  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Iliulson— now  plunging  into 
a  dark,   damp   tunnel   cut    through    the    overhanging    rock ;    now    whirling   around    some 


w 


m 


mmmmmm 


ll! 


ii8 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


promontorv,  jutting  out  into  the  placid  river ;  and,  again,  seeming  to  skim  over  its  silvery 
bosom,  as  \vc  glided  across  an  elbow  of  the  stream.      We    have    passed  beneath  Vonkcrs 

and  Tarry to\i'n,  and  watched  tlu'  shad- 
ows  play  on  the  high  wall  of  the 
Palisades;  skirted  the  shores  ol  Hav- 
erstraw  Bay  and  Tappan  Zee ;  and, 
entering  the  giant  gates  of  the  \\\^\. 
lands  at  Stony  Point,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  West  Point,  as  we  swung  ;iiound 
the  mountain  opposite  Cro'  -  Xost. 
Newburg  and  Poughkeepsie  have 
Hashed  by  in  the  rapidly -ehangino  pan- 
orama. The  Hudson,  bearing  iiuiny  a 
white-sailed  craft  upon  its  bosom.  Hows 
tranquilly  along  between  higii  hanks 
covered  with  trees,  with  here  and 
there  a  pretty  cottage  nestling  among 
them.  Now  and  then,  as  we  strain 
our  eyes  forwani,  we  can  catch  ("or  a 
moment  a  faint  outline,  towar^l  tin 
north,  of  high  mountains,  dark  blue 
in  the  lessening  distance.  Suddenly 
we  rush  through  a  dark  cleft  in  the 
rock,  and  th-n  out  again  on  the  otlur 
side.  On  the  western  bank  of  the 
river  you  can  sec  a  series  of  ridges 
covered  with  trees,  rolling  aw.i\,  one 
after  another,  eight  or  ten  milc^;  and 
beyond  the  fiirthest,  lifting  their  wood- 
cd  sides  up  into  tlu-  clouds  tli.it  itav. 
begun  to  settle  on  their  jumL^,  aie 
the  famous  mountains.  \()n(ln  nmnd 
one  to  the  tight  is  Mlack  Head;  ilun, 
in  succession,  Nortli  Mounlaiti,  Sunth 
Mountain,  and  Kound'l'tip,  wilii  ilich 
Peak  towering  over  all.  Helwcui  this 
last  and  the  vSoitth  Mountain  ymi  sir 
a  sl.arp  nod  h.  or  depivssion,  tennitialing  in  a  deep  shadow.  There  lies  the  Clove,  tin miirh 
which  the  Kauterskill  comes  tumbling  to  the  plain.     Hiffh  on  the  face  of  the  South  Muun- 


Kill   \,in   Winkli'h    IIdusc,    Catskill    Rnail. 


Hi 


THE    CATSKILLS. 


119 


tain,  or  rather  between  it  and  its  northern  neighbor,  your  eye  detects  a  small  speck,  hang- 
ing like  a  swallow's-nest  upon  a  wall,  white  and  glisteninjr  in  the  sun.  It  is  the  Mountain 
House,  from  the  broad  piazza  of  which  three  or  four  hundred  human  beings  are  perhap?, 
at  this  moment,  looking  out  over  the  landscape  which  lies  beneath  them  like  a  map,  and 
noting  the  faint  line  of  white  smoke  that  marks  the  passage  of  our  train.  A  scream 
escapes  from  the  locomotive,  and  the  speed  is  slackened.  Presently  we  come  to  a  dead 
stop.  Bundles  are  quickly  made;  a  crowd  of  travellers  hurries  from  the  cars;  baggage  is 
thrown  about  in  wild  confusion  ;  the  locomotive  gives  a  warning  whistle ;  and,  amid  a 
eldiid  of  dust,  the  train  whirls  up  the  river,  and  out  of  sight  on  its  way  to  Albany. 
A  ferry-boat  lies  waiting  at  the  little  wharf  A  few  gasps  from  the  asthmatic  engine,  and 
we  are  off.  A  few  turns  of  the  lumbering  wheel,  and  we  have  reached  the  western  bank. 
Old-fashioned  stages  stand  by  the  landing,  awaiting  our  arrival.  In  a  little  while  our 
tiunks  are  strapped  on  behind;  and,  seated  each  in  his  place,  we  swing  about,  and  are 
jcilted   u|)   and    down,   as   the    huge   vehicles   roll   through    the    little   village   of    Catskill. 


Sdulh   I  akf. 


We  have  ,  ntly  crossed  the  bridge  which  spans  the  mouth  of  the  Kauterskill,  and 
have  fairly  begun  our  ride  toward  the  mountains.  The  day  is  intently  hot  The 
road  stretches  before  us  white  and  dusty  in  the  sunshine.  On  either  side  the  trees 
'-tand  drooping,  unstirred  by  a  breath  of  air ;  and  often,  as  our  horses  slowly  pull 
their  heavy  binden  up  a  rise  in  the  road,  and  slop  a  moment  to  rest,  a  locust,  perched 
(in  a  tree  by  the  road-side,  begins  his  grating  cry.  In  the  meadows  the  cows  stand 
under  the  trees,  switching  away  the  buzzing  Hies;  and  the  recently-cut  grass  breathes 
mil  its  life  in  the  soft  perfume  of  new-mown  hav.  In  the  distance,  the  clouds  have 
begun  to  gather  on  the  tops  of  the  mountains;  and,  now  anil  then,  a  long  rumble 
(i|  thunder  leverberates  through  them,  and  eoiries  tolling  down  into  (he  valley.  Ileie 
,\Ji.  I'enn  pauses  to  make  bis  first  sketdi.  Mesidc  us,  the  little  Kauterskill,  wearied 
with  its  rough  journey  down  from  the  heights  yoiuler,  winds  among  the  trees  that 
line  its  banks,  plaei<lly  smiling  in  the  sun.  Half  a  dozen  cows  are  st.mding  in  the 
stream  to  cool  themselves.     In  front,  the  valley  rolls  gradually  (about  a  thoi    uid  feet  in 


I20 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


:  1. 


seven  or  eight  miles)  up  to  the  base 
of  the  mountains,  which  rise  in  the 
distance  like  a  wall.  Round  Top  and 
Hif)h  Peak  are  i  uried  in  a  dark  cloud 
hut  the  scarred  iiead  of  the  North 
Mountain  is  in  lull  view,  and  the 
Mountain  House  is  clearly  ilt  lined 
against  a  hackgnmnd  of  pines. 

A  ride  of  sewral  hours  aem^s  the 
fertile  valley,  cliinhiiig  thi'  ridn( .  ti,,,, 
lead  like  ste|)S  from  the  level  if  the 
river  to  the  foot  ot  tiu-  niuuntains, 
brings  us  at  lengtii  to  a  loll-gair,  from 
which  we  see  ilu'  road  straight  h^forc 
us,  ascending   steadilv.      \Vc  luur  now 


beaim    to    cinul)    ni    earnest. 


T 


US  e.\- 


Kitit    l.eii|i  of  llie   Knlln, 


1     I 


cellent   road  takes  ad\antage  of  a  deep 
glen,  or   ra\ine,  through   which    in   the 
winter    tiie  melting  snow  fmds  its  wav 
into  the  valley.      \\\    clinging  cjd'^clv  to 
the    mount, lin  -now  creeping  anmnd  .-i 
projecting  lock  ;  now  crossing  the  hod? 
of  little  streams,  which,  in  the  niidsiim- 
mer  lual,  triikle  down  the  moss\  lock*, 
iK'neath    the    >  \ eisliadowing    trees  — it 
lirings  us,  at   last,  nearly  to  the  ItJulkT! 
jMiint    (if    the    ravine.      On    e\ei\    side 
huge  trees  ovcrh.mg  the  mad.     On  the 
light,  the  mountain  tdwers  str,iiL;lit   up 
,iiio\e  ou'    IkmiIs  ;    on   the   left,  llie   pre- 
lipice    plunges    headlong    down    inioni; 
the  scattered  rocks.      .\s  yon  iliinii  up 
this  steep  ro.id,  and  see,  lure  and  there, 
great  iiowlders   King   on   the   sinp-'  of 
the    mountain,  (uveied  with    nn'--  ami 
feui,  an<l   in  the  perju'tual  shadi    n|  the 
forest    trees    that    interlace    tlieii    kafv 
arms    .diove    you-  eatcliinjf   a   i;limpsi', 
every    ii<>w    ,md    then,    through    some 


CATSK 


LLS. 


122 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


\       ■ 


opening  in  the  tree-tops,  of  the  valley,  a  thousand  feet  below,  and  the  river  glistening  in 
the  distance — you  can  hardly  Mame  him  who,  seeking  a  scene  for  Irving's  inniiortal 
story,  wandered  into  the  romantic  beauties  of  this  wild  ravine,  and  called  it  "  Rip  Van 
Winkle's  (ilcn."  And,  indeed,  I  am  reminded  of  the  legend;  for,  as  we  stop  to  rest  the 
horses  at  a  point  where  the  road  crosses  the  bed  of  a  stream,  from  w  lich  we  can  look 
at  the  gorge  and  sec  a  triangular  piece  of  the  valley,  set  in  the  dark  foliage  on  both 
hands  like  a  picture  in  its  frame,  a  sudden  clap  of  thund'»r  breaks  on  the  peaks,  and 
echoes  among  the  cliffs  above  our  heads,  rolling  off  slowly,  fainter  anil  fainter,  till  it  dies 
away.  Flere,  by  the  side  of  a  little  stream,  which  trickles  down  the  broad,  flat  surface 
of  a  large  rock,  is  the  shanty  called  "  Rip  Van  Winkle's  House,"  wMch  is  represented 
in  Mr.  I'enn's  sketch.  The  artist  is  looking  u])  the  glen  from  a  point  on  the  left  of 
the  road.  On  the  right,  one  may  notice  the  corner  of  a  house,  built  for  a  tavern  some 
time  ago,  which  serves  for  a  resting-place  and  half-way  house  between  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  and  the  hotel  on  the  summit.  From  this  point  the  glen  grows  narrower 
and   steep    .  until   it   is   finally  lost  among  the  crev'ices  on   the  cliffs  of  the   mountain. 

The  roail  now  winds  around  the  side  of  the  North  Mountain,  crecjiing  at  times  on 
the  edge  of  the  preci|)ice,  and  steadily  ascending.  Mr.  Fenn  has  sketched  one  of  its 
most  striking  ])oints  of  view.  At  a  certain  jilace  it  turns  aiiruptly,  and  commences  to 
climb  in  zigzags.  At  the  lirst  turn  you  suddenly  see  the  Mountain  House  diiectly  be- 
fore vou,  ai)parentlv  at  the  distance  of  half  a  mile.  Perched  upon  a  piece  of  rock  which 
juts  out  far  over  the  side  of  the  mountain,  in  the  bright  sunshine  glistening  and  wiiite 
against  the  pine-clad  shoulders  of  tiie  South  Mountain,  the  pile  of  buildings  forms  a  sin- 
gular feature  of  the  view.  On  the  left  of  the  picture  you  may  notice  the  openinjj  of 
the  Kauterskill  Clove,  l)et\veen  the  sloping  side  of  the  South  Mountain  and  that  of 
the  more  distant  High  Peak,  and,  above  the  clouds,  which  are  floating,  like  hits  of 
gauzy  drapery,  about  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  see  the  valley  of  the  Hudson  fading 
off  toward  the  south.  One  feature  of  these  views  is  strikingly  shown  in  this  sketch, 
The  face  of  the  cliffs  is  broken  into  ledges  of  rock,  sharp  and  jagged,  and  often  over- 
hanging the  precipice  for  more  than  a  thousand  feet. 

I-'rom  this  point  there  is  a  steady  climb  of  three  miles,  the  last  p.irt  lluoiiyh  a 
narrow  gorge  shaded  by  droo|)ing  hemlocks,  when  you  have  at  last  reacheil  the  |ilatcau 
on  which  the  lu)lel  stands.  The  Mountain  House  is  built  on  a  flat  rock,  on  tnc  vcrv 
edge  of  the  precipice.  IJeneath  it  the  cliff  fdls  almost  per|)endicularly  about  ciylumi 
hundred  feet.  The  view  from  the  piazza  is  wonderful.  T\v(»  or  three  trees,  growing;  on 
the  broken  stones  twentv  or  thirtv  feet  lu  low  the  level  («f  the  house,  peep  up  above  the 
rock  ill  front  ;  and  between  their  waving  to])s  the  landscape  for  miles  lies  spriail  out 
before  you.  Tlu'  Indian  Ridge,  and  the  smaller  ridges  beneath  vou,  though  in  some 
places  .IS  nuicii  as  seven  himdred  feet  in  height,  are  dwarfed  into  nnthingness;  mil  the 
hill-country,  through  which  you  have  ridden    from    the  river,  looks    like    .i    Hat   aiui  level 


UNDER    THE    CATSKILL     FALLS. 


124 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


plain.  Throujrh  the  centre  of  this,  at  a  distance  of  eifjht  miles,  the  Hudson  winds  along 
like  a  silver  ribbon  on  a  carpet  of  emerald,  from  the  hills  below  Albany  on  the  north 
to  where,  toward  the  south,  its  glittering  stream  disappears  behind  the  Highlaiuls  at 
West  Point.  Directly  beneath  you,  the  fertile  valley,  dotted  with  Airms,  and  hroken 
here    and   there    by    patches   of   rich    woodland,    is    smiling    in    the    sunlight,    constantly 

changing,  as  thr  waves 
of  shadow  chase  each 
other  across  the  varied 
mass  of  green.  And, 
beyond,  an  ampliitlieatre 
of  mountains  rises  on 
the  horizon,  slitteiiini;, 
in  jagged  lines,  fnmi  the 
southern  boundaiios  of 
Vermont  to  Litchfield, 
in  Connecticut  -  milin); 
off,  peak  after  |Hak,  wave 
after  wave  of  dcciJcnini; 
blue,  until  they  are  lost 
in  the  puiplo  of  the 
Berkshire  Hills. 

On  the  wide  lace  of 
this  extended  lan(lsca|)e 
the  atmospheiv  is  con- 
stantly producing  strange 
effects.  In  the  morninc;, 
when  the  sun  |)ce|is 
above  the  distant  liilis. 
and  the  valley  is  filled 
with  clouds  thai  lie 
mas.sed  a  thousand  feet 
i)eneatb  you,  the  elfai 
is  that  of  an  arctic  scr, 
of  ice.  At  times,  Kighi  himself  affords  no  more  wonderful  sight  than  when  the  niM 
light  of  sunset  falls  from  behind  the  Catskills  upon  huge  masses  of  cutuiilus  clonds, 
hcapi'd  up  upon  one  another  like  |)eaks  of  snow.  Day  by  day,  the  scene  is  c  lian)iin<; 
with  the  hours,  and  ever  revealing  some  new  beauty.  Mr.  I'enn's  sketch  of  the  view 
at  sunrise  (see  steel  engraving)  was  taken  from  a  |)oint  on  the  face  of  the  South  Moun- 
tain, near  the  entrance  to  the  Clove.      Ihe  morning  had  just  bn>ken  when  we  scramhlcd 


I'udiliny-Slune    Hall. 


THE    CATSKILLS. 


125 


over  the  edge  of  the  cliff  down,  a  hundred  feet  or  more,  to  a  point  where  the  rocks, 
broken  off  from  the  mountain,  stood  up  like  huge  monuments,  towering  out  over  the 
abyss  below. 

As  we  sat  upon  a  kdge,  from  which  a  pebble  would  have  fallen  perpendicularly 
more  than  five  hundred  feet,  the  sun  rose  up  above  the  hills  in  Massachusetts,  pouring  a 
Hood  of  light  upon  the 
western  side  of  the  val- 
ley. The  eastern,  from 
tiic  river  to  the  foot  of 
tlio  distant  mountains, 
was  still  in  shadow,  filled 
with  a  mass  of  clouds, 
out  of  wliich  the  smaller 
hills  peeped  up  like 
rt>cky  islets  in  a  frozen 
sea.  Directly  beneath  us 
light,  fleecy  clouds,  white 
as  snow,  came  creeping 
nut  of  the  valley,  throw- 
ing into  hold  relief  the 
gnarled  and  twisted  pines 
that  clung  to  the  rocks 
in  front  of  us.  Steadily 
the  sun  mounted  into 
the  heavens,  and  the 
clouds,  gathering  into  a 
snowv  curtain,  and  for 
a  few  moments  obscur- 
ing all  beneath,  presently 
broke  into  pieces  and 
melted  away,  and  there 
lav  the  e.xijuisite  land- 
sca]>e  smiling  in  the  sun- 

siiine.  The  most  famous  beauty  of  the  region  is  the  Fall  of  the  Kautcrskill.  On  the 
high  table-land  of  the  South  and  North  Mountains  lie  two  lakes,  buried  in  a  dense  forest. 
Of  one  of  these,  the  South  Lake,  Mr.  Fenn  has  given  us  a  sketch.  It  was  taken  from 
a  high  ledge  on  the  North  Mountain,  looking  southward.  The  shores  are  dark  with  jiines, 
nul  the  surfoce  of  the  lake  is  dotted  here  and  there  with  the  broad  leaves  of  the  water- 
lily,  but  the  most  striking  feature  of  the  view  is  the  summit  of  Round  Top  rellected  as 


Druid   Rucks. 


^^^mmm 


126 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


in  a  mirror.  A  little  brook,  making  its  way  from  these  lakes,  westward  along  the  slioul- 
der  of  the  mountain,  soon  reaches  the  edge  of  a  very  steep  declivity,  over  which  it 
leaps   into   a  deep  pool  in  the  centre  of  a  great  amphitheatre  of  rock. 

Gathering  its  strength  again,  the  torrent  makes  a  second  leap  over  huge  bowlders, 
which  have  fallen  from  the  ledges  above  and  lie  scattered  down  the  glen,  dashing  itself 
into  foam  in  its  headlong  fury.  Tumbling  from  one  ledge  to  another,  it  reaches,  at 
length,  the  bottom  of  the  glen,  when,  meeting  the  stream  that  flows  from  Haines's  Fall, 
the  mingled  waters  hurry  down  the  stony  pathway  through  the  Clove,  and  out  intu  the 
valley,  until,  swollen  to  a  wide  stream,  they  glide  placidly  into  the  Hudson  at  the  village 
of  Catskill.  There  Is  nothing  more  beautiful  in  American  scenery  than  this  water-fall  as 
it  leaps  from  the  lofty  height  and  dashes  into  spray  in  the  hollow  basin  below.  The 
strata  of  which  the  mountain  is  formed  lie  piled  upon  one  another  horizontally,  and 
through  them  the  water  has  cut  its  way  smoothly  like  a  knife.  Some  distance  above 
the  margin  of  the  pool,  in  which  the  fallen  waters  boil  as  in  a  caldron,  there  is  a 
stratum  of  soft  stone,  which  has  broken  up  and  crumbled  in  the  dam])ness.  Wearing 
away  several  yards  deep  into  the  cliffs,  it  has  left  a  pathway  all  around  the  Fall,  from 
which  you  have  a  fine  view,  and  often,  when  the  stream  above  is  swollen,  through  a  veil 
of  glittering  drops  drijiping  from  the  rocks  above.  E.xquisitc  as  is  the  effect  of  the 
whole  Fall,  when  seen  from  the  rocks  ai  the  foot  of  its  second  leap,  this  last  point  of  view 
is  even  more  striking.  Standing  on  the  narrow  pathway,  you  look  through  the  great 
white  veil  of  falling  waters,  leaping  out  over  your  head  and  sending  up  clouds  of  spray 
that  float  off  down  the  gorge.  Sometimes,  when  the  sun  is  shining  brightly,  a  dancing 
rainbow  will  keep  pace  with  you  as  you  creep  around  the  semicircle  beneath  the  •  K'k. 
Here,  too,  you  get  an  enchanting  glimpse  of  the  edges  of  the  Clove,  down  which  the 
stream  goes  headlong,  and  can  mark  the  wild  figures  of  the  pines  that  cling  to  the 
verge  of  the  cliffs,  and  seem,  with  their  black  s[)ears,  to  pierce  the  sky. 

Upon  the  very  edge  of  the  precipice,  close  to  the  narrow  channel  through  which 
the  Fall  makes  his  plunge,  there  is  a  tree  which  has  grown  out  from  a  crevice,  and  then 
upward  until  it  juts  out  over  the  abyss.  To  this  solitary  tree  the  lad  who  acts  as  vour 
guide  points  with  his  finger,  and  tells  you  of  the  adventurous  young  woman  who  crept 
out  to  the  rock,  and,  clasping  the  slender  trunk  of  the  tree  with  liir  hands,  swuul;  her 
body  far  out  over  'he   I'all,  and  then,  with  a  cry  of  triumph,  back  again  in  safety. 

Beneath  the  .second  fall  the  gorge  is  wild  in  the  extreme.  On  both  sides  the 
mountains  rise  almost  perpendicularly,  clad  with  a  dense  forest,  and,  through  the  shade 
beneath,  the  torrent  roars,  ceaselessly,  among  the  rocks. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  walks  is  o\ -r  the  South  Mountain.  Immediately  after 
leaving  the  House  you  plunge  into  a  dense  thicket  of  pines,  and  commence  to  climli 
a  steep  pathway  among  the  rocks.  The  roots  of  trees,  interlacing  across  the  path,  form 
a  series  of  steps,  and,  here  and  there,  a  huge  rock  serves  for  a  resting-place  in  the  con- 


;* 


I  i 


•^mmmF 


I 


Sti 


cr; 


ta 


1)11' 


CCJ 


thi 


wli 


roc 


THE    CATSKILLS. 


127 


stant  ascent.  In  a  few  minutes  you  have  reached  the  level  of  a  stratum  of  conglom- 
erate of  many  feet  in  thickness,  which  lies  across  the  top  of  this  and  the  North  Moun- 
tain. Some  convulsion  of  Nature  has  riven  off  a  piece  of  it,  which  now  lies  on  the 
hill-side,  many  feet  in  thickness,  and  eighteen  or  twenty  high.  Between  this  and  the 
solid  rock  is  a  passage  several  feet  in  length  and  two  or  three    in  width,  to  which   some 


I.'ioldng  South    from   South    Moupt^in. 

one  has  given  the  name  of  "  Fudding-Stone  Hall."  Ferns  are  growing  in  the  dark  re- 
cesses of  the  rock,  and  water  drips  constantly  into  the  cavity.  Your  path  leads  through 
this  chasm,  and,  hy  means  of  a  ]iile  of  stones  at  the  farther  end,  as  shown  in  the 
sketch,  you  climb  up  to  the  top  of  the  ledge  of  conglomerate.  Here  the  trees  are 
wliite  and  dead,  having  been  killed  by  repeated  fires,  and  the  path  winds  among  the 
rocks,  half  buried  in  long  mountain-grass  or  bluebciry-bushes,  until  it  comes   out   to    the 


•1'^ 


128 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


iif  ('tlnklll    Clow   rriim    lixliaii    lleml, 


eastern  face  of  the  mountain. 
Vou  are,  of  course,  high  ahovc 
the  level  of  the  Mountain 
House,  which  lies  benealii  vou 
to  the  left,  and  the  view  over 
I  lie  surrounding  country  and  tiie 
valley  of  the  Hudson  is  oven 
more  extended  than  that  tiom 
the  piazza  of  the  hotel.  Witii  a 
good  glass  you  can  distinguisli  a 
n)und  object  glittering  on  the 
sunnnit  of  a  hill  on  the  uortii- 
em  horizon.  It  is  the  C';i|)it(i| 
at  Albany,  forty  miles  off  as  the 
crow  flies.  I'arthcr  along,  still 
keeping  southward,  and  occasion- 
ally climbing  up  steep  stcjis,  you 
fnid  the  cliffs  e.xceedinglv  tine. 
Some  of  them  are  siiaii)lv  tut, 
and  overhang  the  tops  of  the 
tallest  trees  that  grow  from  iht 
debris  at  their  base.  On  a  juoin- 
ontory  of  higli  rock,  mar  the 
entrance  to  the  Kauti  iskill  (  love. 
lies  "  the  Uowldcr,"  which  is  olien 
the  goal  of  walking-parties.  It 
is  a  huge  bKick  of  the  |)U(l(lin^'- 
stone  brought  lure,  doubtless,  liv 
the  ice  in  the  glacial  i)eri(iil,  ami 
left  by  some  strange  chance  on 
the  very  verge  of  the  pnii|iiee, 
.\  few  feet  farther  and  it  would 
have  to|)pled  over  the  edi^c  am! 
crashed  downward  tw(»  llmuMmi 
feet  into  the  bottom  d  llif 
(M«)ve.  Mr.  I-Vnn  has  skilehed 
the  Bowlder  anil  the  cliffs  on 
top  of  which  it  lies.  I'rom  his 
point   of   view    you    look   south- 


mm 


THE    CATSKILLS. 


•^9 


ward,  across  the  mouth  of  the 
Clove,  the  great  shoulder  of 
High  Peak  and  Round  Top 
rising  up  aijrujitly  beyond. 
Here,  as  in  fhe  sketch  of  the 
sunrise,  the  preci|)itous  walls 
of  rock  hardly  afford  foothold 
for  the  weather  -  beaten  pines 
that  grow  out  of  the  crevices 
and  wave  their-  twisted  arms 
from  till'  d.z  '  ,  ' .  nts.  Some- 
times, afte:  nasii'ig  through 
I'lidding-Stciv  liall,  you  keep 
straight  along  the  path  through 
the  woods  instead  of  turning 
eastward  toward  the  face  of 
the  mountain.  After  a  time 
\()ii  come  to  a  ])oint  where 
till'  hits  of  rock  have  fallen 
iVoni  the  ledge  above  anil  lie 
scattered  along  llie  hill-side,  like 
the  bowlders  hurled  about  in 
the  giant  warfan-  of  the  Titans. 
The  wood  is  dense  and  dark  : 
tlie  pines  interlacing  their  arms 
.ibove  your  head  throw  a  i)er- 
IKtii.d  twilight  on  the  hill-side, 
,111(1,  as  you  sit  on  the  soft 
iiipit  of  their  fallen  leaves, 
,111(1  see  these  huge  fantastic 
lOLks  scattered  around  you, 
line  eannot  but  feel  that  the 
II  uue  of  "  Druid  Rocks."  which 
has  been  given  to  the  place, 
is  at  once  suggestive  and  ap- 
propriate. At  times  the  path 
■|)s  elosi'  along  the  sloping 
ill-side,  finding  a  donlitful  way 
''incath  the    base   (.f  tall    cliffs 


h 


Hililge   III   t'nukili   (."luve. 


I  M 


130 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


■    f 


1 


'      1 


covered  with    moss;   at  others    it  climbs  through  some  ereviee,  and,  ascending  to  tlie  ton 
of  the  ledge,  winds  among  the  gray  rocks  in  the  full  glare  of  a  summer's  sun. 

A  delightful  walk  brings  you  at  last  to  Indian  Head.  This  name  is  given  to  a 
bold  promontory  whicii  juts  out  over  the  Clove  until  it  overhangs  the  bed  of  tin  tum- 
bling, tos^'ng  Kauterskill.  l-'rom  this  rock  the  mountain  falls  eighteen  hundred  or  two 
thousand  feet.  Half  a  dozen  tall  pines,  growing  out  of  the  cliff,  divided  intu  two 
groups  on  t'ither  hand,  form  a  sort  of  dark,  rustic  frame  for  the  e.\(}ui';ite  picture.  The 
Clove  at  tiiis  place  is  very  narrow,  and,  along  the  botton;  the  Kauterskill  goes  tunil)ling 
and  foaming  over  the  stones.  Along  the  base  of  the  cliff,  on  the  left  or  southern  side 
of  the  gien,  winds  the  little  road  that  leads  fiom  the  village  at  its  mouth  up  to  the 
table-land  bevond  the  famous  falls.  On  both  sides,  the  mountains  tower  high  alnne  vour 
heads,  heavilv  wooded  to  the  summits  with  chestnut  and  pine,  through  the  ricii  green 
of  which,  here  and  there,  you  can  seethe  rugged  face  of  a  huge  precij)ice,  scarred  and 
broken  br  the  frosts,  and  spotted  with  dark  lichen  and  moss.  As  we  gazed  d(»\vn  into 
the  Cio\e  a  hea\il\-laden  stage  came  lumbering  into  view,  looking,  as  it  does  in  Mr 
Fenn's  sketch,  like  a  mere  speck  upon  the  winding  road.  We  watched  it  creepintr 
along,  often  half  hidden  by  the  trees,  until  it  passed  over  the  little  rustic  bridnc  that 
spans  a  brawling  cataract,  and  \anislied  behind  the  dark  shoulder  of  the  mountain.  Ji 
was  a  perfect  dav.  .About  the  gre  >t  head  of  High  Peak  the  clouds  had  thrown  ;i  scarf 
of  white,  the  shadow  of  which  ilaikened  his  mighty  shoulders  and  the  gorge  lienealh. 
The  colors  were  constantly  changing  with  the  moving  clouds,  and  the  sunlight  plaved 
,ui(l  daiieed  upon  the  w.dls  of  rock  and  the  masst'S  of  iiei'|)est  green,  wliile  tin-  snund 
of  the  K.iuterskill  e.une  lloating  U|t  to  us  from  its  stony  bed,  where  it  dashed  aionu,  nrnv 
sparklinj-  in  the  sunliglil  and  then  plunging  over  mossy  rocks  into  the  shade.  The  won- 
derful effect  of  this  play  of  ligiit  and  shade  is  perfectiv  shown  bv  the  accompanvini; 
picture.  Tiie  little  lustic  bridge  which  is  seen  in  the  view  from  Indian  1  h'ad  sp.nis  the 
stream  at  oiu'  of  tlu'  most  striking  |)oints  in  the  (love.  ( )f  ii  Mr.  I'enn  has  nuidc  ,1 
skitch  fiom  a  rock  just  below  it  in  the  stri'.mi  The  liuht  slruclinc,  liardb  strong 
enough,  apparentlv,  to  bear  the  heavy  stage  that  1  .iboul  to  cross  it,  hangs  o\(t  the 
Jvautei'^kill  where  it  comes  tumblini.:  ^ver  some  huin'  locks  that  have  fallen  in  its  path. 
The  water  boils  and  losses  into  foam  nd  then  dashes  headlong  down  a  successioii  »\ 
ledges  beue.uli.  On  tme  side,  the  clilt  owi-rs  high  into  the  air,  sharp  and  sniooih  ,is 
tnasonrv,  looking  like  the  w.dls  of  a  git  il  mediieval  castle.  On  Ibi'  other,  the  s|im><  il 
the  .South  Mount.iin.  deiiselv  covered  with  trees,  rive  rapidiv  moic  than  fifleeii  hinidrcd 
teet.  It  is  a  most  lomanlie  ^pol.  .\s  you  stand  upon  .Simsci  Uoek  and  look  wcMward 
up  the  ("love,  \()n  h.ive  one  of  the  most  pictures(|iie  views  in  the  range  of  inmintnin 
seenei\.  The  rock  iv  bioad  and  Hat,  projecting  far  out  o\er  the  precipice.  An  old  pim- 
tree  si.inds,  liki-  a  sentinel,  U|>on  its  very  verge.  In  fioiil  of  and  behind  vou,  as  \(iii  Ml 
by    the    (dd    tree    on    the    di/zv    edgi',    the    mount.iin     piishis    two   meal,   grav    clitjs,   ImIiI 


THE    CATSKILLS. 


13' 


iiiul  iijujit'il,  lar  (lilt  tivrr  the  gh'ii,  and  iIr-ii 
falls  in  l)ii)kcn  lints  a  scarred  anil  lru\viiin>f 
pricipiiv. 

Tin-  lints  of  tlir  Sdiilli  Mountain  and 
t)l  the  spurs  ol  lliuli  Peak  and  Round  I  o|i 
Mciid  NO  ficntly  tojrclhcr,  w  they  nurl  lieiuMth.  llial  it  is  dilliiult  to  tiair  tin-  luil  of 
lilt     ivautcr«-kill    or    its    tributary    even    by    the    shadows    in    the    dense    forest    of  green. 


1': 


1  < 


I   ,,'; 


»l^^ 
^Hk 


If! 


132 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


I  0" 


Till"   Hvi'  t'i»taili"<,    Knlllcr^^.lll   I  love. 


Directly  in  front  of  you  ilie  ta- 
ble-land, which  is  formccl   hy  tin- 
shoulders    of     these      mountains, 
rolls    off    toward    the    wistwanl 
where  the  sharp  lines  of   lluiittr 
Mountain     are     clearly     dtiined 
against  the   sky  among   its  sister 
peaks.      Over    the    edge    of   tlm 
table-land     leaps     Haines's    l-ali. 
As  in  the  accompanying  cn<,nav- 
ing,  it  looks,  from  Sunset   Rock, 
like   a    white    spot    in    tlic   dark 
forest — glittering    fv)r    an    instant 
in   the   sunlight,  and  tinn  \\\xw^. 
ing     down     beiiind     tlic    wavinp; 
tree-tops. 

One  of  the  most  liuautiful 
of  all  tlie  sketches  made  hv 
Mr.  Fenn  is  that  of  tlic  Fiw 
Cascades,  as  they  are  inipiojicrlv 
called.  A  stiff  climb  fnnn  the 
bottom  of  the  Kauterskill  Clove 
—  commencing  at  tiio  ])oint 
where  the  carriage-road  leaves  it 
and  following  the  bod  nf  iju 
stream  tiiat  comes  douii  fnnii 
Haines's,  now  clambering  tiver 
bowlders  anil  fallen  trees,  ami 
again  scramliling  up  the  wet 
rocks  or  clinging  to  tin'  vine-elad 
banks — brought  us  at  last  to  the 
I'ivj'  Cascades.  It  was  an  en- 
chanting s|)ol.  The  sireatn,  alin 
plunging  over  the  cliff— .is  shdwii 
in  the  view  from  Sunset  Koek 
like  a  fur-iifl  feathery  vap.M  intn 
a  large  shallow  jmioI,  iiiiu|is  tap- 
idly  over  a  series  of  le<lff(  >  ftoni 
ten  to  forty  feet   in   height,  that 


THE    CATSKILLS. 


133 


lead  like  steps  down  into  the  Clove.  Through  the  succession  of  the  ages  it  has  worn 
its  way  among  the  rocks  until,  for  most  of  the  distance,  its  path  is  hidden  from  the 
sunshine.  In  many  places  the  branches  of  the  trees  on  the  higii  luuiks  above  are  in- 
lertwined  across  the  ravine,  down  which  the  little  stream  dashes  in  hundreds  of  beauti- 
ful cataracts  in  a  perpetual  twiligiu.  There  are,  in  truth,  hundreds  of  these  falls,  but 
five  of  them  are  peculiarly  striking — and  tlnee  of  these  are  represented  in  the  engrav- 
ing. As  we  sat  upon  a  fallen  tree  and  gazed  upon  the  stream,  dashing  its  cold,  gray 
waters  over  the  black  rocks,  a  shaft  of  sunlight  broke  througii  the  tree-tops  above  our 
iitads  and  fell  upon  the  middle  fall.  Tiie  change  was  instantaneous.  Above  it  and 
hcKiw,  tin,'  cataracts  were  still  in  shadow,  but  tiie  central  one,  in  the  bright  sunshine, 
threw  ()\er  the  glistening  rock  a  myriad  of  diamonds.  For  live  minutes  the  water 
seemed  to  rejoice  in  the  glorious  light,  when  suddenly  it  faded — the  spell  was  broken, 
and  the  little  cataract  went  tumbling  over  the  dark  rocks  in  the  gloom  again. 


Stony    Clovf. 


The  last  engraving  is  a  distant  view  of  Stony  Clove — a  pass  in  tiie  mountains  fa- 
mous for  the  wildness  of  its  scenery.  It  is  always  dark  and  cool,  and  even  in  niid- 
.\ugust  you  may  find  ice  among  the  crevices  of  thi-  loeks  that  have  fallen  in  gnat 
numbers  from  the  cliffs  above.  The  sketch  was  made  as  we  (hove  toward  the  northern 
cnii.niee.  A  liuinder-siorm  was  gathering  abait  the  southern  gale  of  tiie  pass,  and  a 
i.iinliow  seemed  to  rest  n|)on  the  mountains  hovering  above  the  (love. 

Such  are  a  few  of  liu'  attractions  of  this  eiiarming  region.  Of  eoiirsi-  there  are 
(hivis  o\ir  fme  roads  among  the  liiil-tojjs,  and  eoiuitless  walks  through  the  lonsts  and 
liver  the  ledges,  with  the  usual  results  of  lorn  elotlus,  sunburnt  faces,  and  luaMv  appe- 
tites. To  the  dweller  in  A  city  of  the  plain,  weary  of  work  ami  worn  with  the  tumult 
"I  its  lile,  there  aie  few  places  in  the  whole  range  of  American  scenery  so  attractive 
uui  refreshing  as  the  Catskill   Mountains. 


■  ;f7!r£TFi'?^T' .  r7P?rrr 


Mr4 


THE    JUNIATA. 


Wil'H    ILLUSTRATIONS    HY    CKANVILLE    TEKKINS. 


lUmc.-innon,   Moulh  iif  the  Juniata. 


A  M  I-.I'JIC.WS  ;nv  lull  too  ajjt  to  nink  their  rivers  In-  tlirir  size,  and  almost  r(fii';e 
to  Itflicve  that  a  stream  eaii  lie  exeeechntrlv  loveiv  that  does  not  How.  ai  the 
least,  a  thousand  miles  or  so.  Such  a  work  as  the  present  will  fj^o  far  to  remii\(  ihi'- 
way  of  thinkinj;,  since  the  scenes  depicted  of  many  rivers  will  enahle  the  'vorld  tn  iniii- 
pare  and  contrast  them  more  accurately;  and  the  comparison  will  assuredly  awani  tlu 
palm  of  loveliness  to  the  smaller  streams. 


THE    JUNIATA. 


135 


The  Juniata  is  a  tril)Utary — a  mountain-triijutar}' — of  the  far-famed  Susquehanna; 
ami  tiiough  its  sliort  life  begins  at  a  point  beyond  Clearfield,  and  ends  at  Duncannon — 
a  di'^tance  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles — yet  does  it  present  many  seenes  of  entraneing 
luaiilv.  It  flills  into  the  Susquehanna,  about  a  mile  from  the  last-named  ])lace,  in  a  site 
I  hat  deserves  eertainly  to  have  been  the  theme  of  poets'  song,  and  the  insjjiration  of 
I  Ik-  artist's  brush.  The  village  of  Duneannon  is  built  at  the  base  of  numerous  foot-hills, 
wliieli  lie  crouching  beneath  the  colossal  mountain-forms  that  rise  to  a  height  of  several 
tlidiisanti   feet    into   the    blue    air.      It  is  a  curious  fact  that  these  foot-hills  are  not   from 


sit 


'i:' 


Ni};hl-Scene   on    llic   Juniatii,    near    I'crryville. 


the  ilctn'tiis  and  washing  away  of  the  mountains  above;  for  the  former  have  a  limestone 
sulislaiice,  and  the  latter  are  of  sandstone.  Hence  the  foot-hills  are  not  onlv  fertile,  but 
siiiixularlv  adapted  for  raising  wheat,  and  for  the  cultivation  of  the  vine.  The  mountains 
an  covttvd  from  base  to  summit  with  a  luxuriant  growth  of  forest-trees,  mostlv  oaks, 
rlicsiniits,  hickories,  jiecans,  and  other  hard  woods.  As  one  ascends  higher  and  higher 
into  the  mountain-region  where  the  Juniata  takes  its  birth,  |)ines  and  spruces  appear;  but 
al  Duncannon  one  may  look  long  at  the  masses  of  superb  foliage  without  discovering 
ihc  (lark-green  leafage  and  the  iqnight   form  of  a  pini-. 

Ascciuling  one  of  the  foot-iiills,  covered  with  high,  waving  corn,  tiie  spectator  obtains 


41 


U 


136 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Wimiings   of  the  Juniata,    near    Perryyille. 


a   noble    view    of  the   Sus- 
quehanna    and     its    lovely 
tributary.     The  first  river  is 
quite  broad  here,  and  pours 
a    brown,    whelming    jio,|(] 
nearly   a   mile   wide,  in  the 
direction      of      Ilanisburg, 
though      the      manner    in 
which    the    mountains   put 
their  heads  together,  as  one 
looks   backward,  renders  its 
course    entirely    prohlcniati- 
cal.     Looking  opposite  fnmi 
the     Duncannon    foot  -  hilj, 
there    lies   in   full   outline  a 
superb   mountain,  at  whojc 
base     runs     the     Northern 
Central    Railway   of  Pcnn. 
sylvania,     and     the     eanai. 
which  formerly  belonged  to 
the  State,  but  has  since  be- 
come   the    property  of  the 
Pennsylvania     road.      Tlii< 
mountain,    like    the    others, 
is     densely    wooded  ;    Init 
there    are   places   wheie  ii^ 
sides   are    bare,  and  show  a 
mass  of  small,  broken  rock<, 
ai)iiroaching     shale,     whidi 
woidd   entirely   deslioy  iinv 
beauty   in    these    niniintain- 
forms.     The    kindh   iiiiintk' 
of  preen  foliage  w  hieh  Na- 
ture   lias    given   tluin  is  ,111 
absolute  necessity  as  regards 
the    picturestjue,  thmiuh,  as 
a    consetjuence,  the  eye  in 
vain     looks    for    tlie   sheer 
descent   and   the   hold,  rug- 


THE    JUNIATA. 


137 


ged  outlines  which  make  mountain  scenery  sublime.  Here,  on  the  contrary,  every  thing 
has  a  gentle  slope,  and  one  often  sees  a  succession  of  wooded  terraces  mounting  upward 
into  the  air.  The  manner  in  which  these  enormous  masses  of  tree-coveings  arrest  and 
detain  the  blue  particles  of  air  has  won  for  them  the  appellation  of  Blue  Mountains, 
though  geographically  they  are  known  as  the  Kittatinny.  Beyond  this  mountain  rises  up 
another  of  still  grander  majesty ;  and  just  between  them  is  the  bridge  over  which  the 
teams  of  the  canal-boats  cross  from  the  Susquehanna  to  accompany  the  Juniata.  At  this 
point,  therefore,  the  waters  meet.  The  mouth  of  the  Juniata  is  not  very  broad,  and 
seems  quite  narrow  when  compared  with  the  flood  of  her  big  sister;  but  her  stream  is 
much  deeper,  and  her  waters  of  a  deep  blue.  The  poets  of  the  locality  love  to  write 
about  the  blue  Juniata,  and  speak  of  it  as  the  gently-gliding  stream.  In  summer-time, 
no  doubt,  this  name  is  appropriate ;  but  from  the  hill  of  observation  above  Duncannon 
one  can  see  the  remains  of  four  stone  piers — all  that  is  left  of  the  bridge  that  spanned 
the  Juniata  at  this  point.  Regularly  every  spring,  when  the  snows  melt  and  the  ice 
piles  up  in  masses,  the  Juniata  sweeps  away  her  bridges  as  if  they  were  feathers,  and 
comes  rushing  into  the  Susquehanna  with  a  wealth  of  blue  water  that  materially  changes 
the  color  of  the  big,  brown  stream.  At  Harrisburg  they  know,  by  the  color  of  the 
stream  that  rushes  past,  when  the  waters  come  from  the  Juniata;  and  they  mutter 
about  lively  times  down  Huntingdon  way.  There  is  a  broad,  bold  curve  of  land  on  the 
left  bank  of  the  Juniata,  which  hides  all  but  its  mouth  from  observation  ;  but  the  Sus- 
quehanna can  be  seen  wandering  among  the  foot-hills,  and  swelling  out  like  a  lake  in 
various  places. 

Following  the  bank  of  the  blue  Juniata,  side  by  side  with  the  canal,  one  is  for  a 
few  miles,  at  first,  in  a  level  country.  The  stream  is  not  broad,  but  tolerably  deep,  and 
abounding  in  fish,  which  rise  every  moment  at  the  flies  that  hover  over  the  placid  sur- 
face. Between  here  and  Perryville  the  river  is  full  of  beautiful  islands,  covered  with 
trees  whose  branches  sweep  down  to  the  ground  and  often  hide  the  bank.  With  the 
brandies  arc  interlaced  wild-vines,  with  huge  leaves ;  and  between  them  the  golden-rod, 
and  the  big  yellow  daisy,  and  the  large-leaved  fern,  make  their  appearance.  In  the  low 
l)arts  of  these  islands  there  are  beautiful  mosses,  and  a  species  of  water-grass  which 
becomes  a  dccj)  orange  in  circular  patches.  Some  of  these  islands  are  quite  large,  com- 
paratively speaking;  and  one  can  spy,  through  the  crossed  and  entangled  branches,  the 
glimmer  of  white  dresses,  and  the  glancing  of  fair  faces,  belonging  to  a  picnicking 
party,  or  perhaps  to  folks  going  a-berrying,  who,  having  filled  their  baskets,  have  been 
romantic  enough  to  eat  their  lunch  on  the  Moss  Islands. 

Approaching  Perryville,  the  foot-hills  disappear,  and  the  bright  glimjise  of  champaign 
country  vanishes.  The  mountains  are  once  more  upon  us,  looming  up  into  the  clear 
sky  like  giants.  They  are  on  both  sides,  and  in  front  likewise.  On  the  right  there  is 
one  huge,  solid  wall,  with    hardly  an    irregularity    or   a    break    along   the    crest,  which    is 


i 

li 


n 


138 


r/C  TURESQ  UP.     .■  \^fl'.  RICA. 


Moss   Islands,   in   the   Juniata. 


Straight  as  a  piece  of  masonry.  On  the  left  the  mountains  arc  strung  along  like  a  chain 
of  gigantic  agates.  Each  s^oms  to  be  triangular,  and  between  each  is  a  ravine,  where 
there  are  not  onlv  (all  irccs,  l)ut  also  tine  slopes  of  high  grass.  There  are  deer  in  there, 
and  there  are  black   bears  on  iVc  sunnnit ;    but,  to  see  them,  one  must  live  on  a  farm  on 


THE    JUNIATA. 


139 


the  mountain-side,  and  be  one  of  tiie  sons  of  the  mountain.  The  fcree  naturcB  do  not 
love  the  scream  of  the  steam-whistle,  and  abide  far  away  un  ihe  long  slopes  of  the 
sides,  which  we  do  not  sec,  for  we  are  now  skirtinji;  the  bases  of  their  triangular  fronts. 
Nine-tenths  of  those  who  pass  them  never  dream  how  far  back  these  mountains  ex- 
tend ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  somewhat  difficult  for  any  one  to  keep  in  his  head  the  multi- 
form appearances  of  the  same  mountain  as  viewed  from  various  sides.  At  night-time, 
wiien  there  is  a  full  moon,  the  river  near  Perryville  is  exceedingly  grand  —  the  solemn 
stillness  of  the  hour ;  the  lapping  sound  of  the  gentle  water ;  the  whisper  of  the  wind 
among  the  trees,  that  seems  more  like  the  falling  of  a  distant  cascade  than  the  rustling 
I  if  leaf  on  leaf,  and  the  chafing  of  bough  against  bough.  When  the  wind  rises,  then 
the  voices  of  the  mountain  speak  ;  and  a  storm  of  groans,  shrieks,  and  mutterings,  is 
loosened.  Voices  of  command,  of  entreaty,  threats,  muffled  or  rising  high,  are  borne 
upon  the  air;  and  it  seems  as  if  the  murky  night  were  being  peopled  with  an  invisible 
creation,  with  voices  that  were  formless,  but  had  souls  that  spoke  through  the  endless 
modulations  of  sound. 

But  if  tiie  approach  to  Perryville  be  most  beautiful  by  night,  it  is  not  so  beyond. 
For  the  great  wall  sinks  behind  a  line  of  detached  mountains  here  which  come  sloping 
down  to  the  river  in  long  capes  and  promontories,  covered  by  a  profusion  of  many-hued 
foliage.  On  the  left  bank,  the  mountains  still  show  their  bold  fronts,  and  the  stream, 
forced  around  the  capes  on  the  one  side,  has  worn  similar  indentations  on  the  other, 
presenting  a  most  beautiful  appearance.  The  most  picturesque  part  of  this  lovely  region 
is  after  we  pass  the  little  village  of  Mexico ;  and  it  may  be  noted  here  that  the  nomen- 
clature of  the  whole  place  is  ridiculous  beyond  comparison,  the  pretty  names  being  all 
cribbed  from  Ireland,  and  the  others  having  no  meaning  or  relationship  whatever.  It  is 
difficult  to  say  whether  the  river  is  finer  looking  forward  or  looking  back.  Perhaps 
looking  forward  is  the  best,  if  one  can  leave  out  of  the  perspective  a  wretched  mountain 
called  Slip  llill,  which,  having  been  deprived  by  the  wood-cutters  of  its  forest-mantle, 
has  ever  since  taken  to  rolling  stones  down  its  great  slope,  and  presents  a  hideously  for- 
lorn aiipcarance.  It  is  covered  from  apex  to  base  with  a  mass  of  small,  Hat  stones,  like 
scales,  and  about  every  half-hour  there  is  a  movement,  and  a  miniature  land-slip  goes 
gliding  into  the  river.  As  the  stones  are  quite  small,  the  river  sends  them  along,  but 
tiiey  have  materially  changed  the  bed  in  places,  and  made  the  stream  quite  shallow.  If 
tills  unfortunate  bit  can  be  hidden,  the  view  is  the  perfection  of  the  picturesque.  It  does 
not  amount  to  sublimity,  for  the  hills  are  not  bold  enough  for  that.  But  the  curves  of 
the  stream  are  so  graceful,  and  the  slopes  of  the  mountains  covered  with  green  so  grand, 
that  the  imagination  is  charmed  and  the  feelings  softened. 

The  next  point  along  the  line  of  the  Juniata  is  one  where  the  river  sinks  into  a 
very  subordinate  position,  indeed.  The  hills  on  both  sides,  that  have  hitherto  been  so 
amiable,  suddenly  break  off,  and  the  great  wall  comes  into  view  on  the  right  hand,  while 


•si: 


■;H--t 


I 


140 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


Xariows    near    Lcwistown, 


;!v  i 


on  the  left  we  get  tlie  side  of  a  mountain  instead  of  its  front.  On  both  banks  the  hills 
are  remaikablj-  steep,  and  they  approaeh  so  closely  together  as  to  confine  the  little  river 
within  extremely  narrow  bounds.  T'or  seven  miles  and  a  lialf  this  imprisonment  lasts; 
and  liere,  ])erliai)s,  tlie  inountains  show  tlieir  grandest  forms.      The   l)ases   arc   often   crag- 


THE    JUNIATA, 


141 


like,  showing  huge  masses  of  stone  that  seem  to  hang  on  to  the  side  without  any  defi- 
nite support,  and  threaten  momentarily  to  come  down  upon  one's  head.  The  summits  in 
a  few  instances  have  castellated  forms,  and  beguile  the  eye  with  momentary  imjiressions 
of  battlements,  from  which  the  wild-cherry  or  the  vine  flings  itself  to  the  breeze  like  a 
banner.  Unfortunately,  these  spots  are  rare,  but  the  general  character  of  the  scenery  is 
much  bolder  tiian  in  other  places.  It  is  astonishing  how  the  mist  clings  here,  and  how 
resolutely   the   sun    is   combated.      The   bright    luminary    has    to    be    quite    high    in    the 


The   I'orks   of  the  Juniala,  near   Huntingdon. 


heavens  before  his  rays  can  surmount  the  barriers  which  Nature  has  planted  against  the 
sunlight.  Slowly  the  masses  of  while  mist  rise  like  smoke,  clinging  to  liie  sides  of  the 
liiils  in  great  strata.  When  the  sun  reaches  down  to  the  surface  of  the  -  ver.  the  mi^its 
have  disa])peared,  but  there  are  tiny  spirals,  like  wreaths  of  smoke,  which  dance  upon 
the  water,  and  remain  for  many  minutes.  At  length  all  is  clear,  and  tiie  blue  firmament 
smiles  down  upon  us,  the  golden  clouds  sail  over  us,  and  the  sun  beams  beneficently 
down.     In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  mists  have  marshalled  their  hosts,  and  the  whole 


II 


THE    JUNIATA. 


H3 


.scene— sky,  mountains,  anil  river — is  blotted  out.  Then  the  battle  has  to  be  fought 
ao^ain.  Once  more  the  sunbeams  triumph,  and  the  beaten  vapor  clings  for  jirotection  to 
the  sides  of  the  hills,  and  the  maids  of  the  mist  dance  upon  the  waters.  But  all  is  not 
yet  over,  and  the  contest  often  is  waged  until  far  in  the  day,  when  the  sun's  triumph 
becomes  lasting.  As  the  entrance  into  the  Narrows  was  sudden,  so  the  exit  is  abrupt. 
One  wanders  along  the  tow-path  of  the  canal  looking  up  at  the  mountains,  and  won- 
dering how  much  nearer  they  intend  to  come,  and  whether  they  are  going  to  act  like 
the  ii'jn  shroud,  and  close  in  and  crush  us  utterly,  when, presto /  the  Juniata  makes  a  bold 
Hing  to  the  right,  and  we  find  ourselves  in  Lewistown,  with  the  mountains  behind  us 
and  a  pleasant  valley  smiling  welcome  in  our  front. 

Between  Lewistown  and  Huntingdon  the  scenery  is  extremely  beautiful;  but  to  de- 
scribe it  would  be  simply  a  repetition  of  the  phrases  applied  to  Perryville,  where  the 
curves  of  the  river  are  so  lovely.  But  the  mountains  are  decidedly  bolder,  and  the  river 
becomes  wilder,  and  curves  in  such  a  multitudinous  fashion  as  to  make  frequent  bridging 
absolutely  necessary.  One  of  the  chief  charms  of  this  route  may  perhaps  be  in  the  fact 
that,  on  tlie  right-hand  side,  there  are  two  ranges — one  always  like  a  Titanic  wall,  the 
otlier  a  broken  line  of  skirmishers.  As  one  advances  higher  and  higher  into  the  moun- 
tain-region, the  pines  begin  to  show  on  the  sides  of  the  great  cones  of  sandstone  like  a 
shaggy  fringe,  and  the  masses  of  rock  are  larger  and  more  picturcs()ue.  At  Huntingdon 
the  iiills  retire,  and  leave  a  pleasant  level.  Here  the  Juniata  forks,  the  larger  but  less 
picturesque  fork  striking  southward  toward  1  K)llidaysburg,  and  the  smaller  branch,  known 
as  the  Little  Juniata,  going  west  in  the  direction  of  Tyrone.  The  canal  and  the  Penn- 
sylvania Railroad,  which  hitherto  have  faithfully  run  side  by  side  along  the  Juniata,  now 
separate  also,  the  canal  going  with  the  big  branch  and  the  railway  with  tlie  little  oiic. 
In  cunseipience  of  this  separation  there  are  many  bridges  at  Huntingdon,  and  the  place 
looks  (|uite  picluH'S(|ue  with  its  background  of  mountains  and  its  wandering  streams. 
But  henceforth  the  Juniata  ceases  to  be  a  river,  both  branches  being  just  trout-streams, 
anil  nothing  more.  And,  what  is  still  more  cruel,  the  Little  Juniata  loses  its  beautiful 
blue  color,  because  it  flows  through  :  mining-region,  and  the  miners  will  persist  in 
washing  their  ore  in  its  clear  wave. 

.\fter  wc  leave  Huntingdon  we  are  in  the  mountains  altogether.  \'arious  creeks 
join  the  Little  Juniata,  which  winds  so  tli.U  ir  has  >  •  be  bridged  every  three  or  four 
miles,  At  the  junction  of  S|«rucc  Creek,  the  mount:".  .>  on  the  left,  which  have  been 
shouldering  us  for  some  time  back,  .suddenb'  hurl  a  hum;  Imrricr  over  our  |)ath  in  the 
shape  of  Tusscy's  Mountain— a  grea'  turt'.e-backcd  monster,  s-jvcral  thousand  feet  high. 
Till-  wall  on  the  tight  hand  closes  in  ac  the  same  tiine,  so  that  there  is  no  resource  left 
but  a  tunnel,  which,  however,  is  not  a  verv  b^ng  one.  We  are  now  seven  miles  <Vom 
Tvione.  the  centre  of  the  mountains,  and  ilie  pines  arc  quite  thick.  The  hills  that  lie 
at  the  base  of  the  njountainn  show  pleasant   farm-houses  and  deep-green-loavcd  com.     The 


•INKINO    nON,    ABOVB    TYKONE. 


THE    JUNIATA. 


145 


mountains  show  us  no\»  their  fronts  and  now  their  bases,  but  are  never  out  of  sight,  and 
at  intervals  come  light  up  to  us.  At  Tyrone  they  look  as  if  they  had  been  cleft  asunder, 
for  there  is  a  great  gap  cut  between  two  mountains.  This  in  times  past  was  doubtless 
(lie  work  of  the  Juniata,  and  was  not  so  duTicult  as  it  looks;  for  the  shaly  mountains 
are  very  different  from  the  firm  limestone,  through  which  the  Kanata  cuts  its  way  at 
Trenton  Falls.  On  the  right  hanti,  however,  the  hard  sandstone  shows  for  a  considerable 
s|)ace,  and  affords  all  the  stone  of  which  the  bridges  in  the  neighborhood  are  built. 
Ivrone  is  built  in  (juite  a  considerable  valley.  The  mountains  oi)en  out  for  some 
distance  to  the  eastward  and  to  the  westward.  But  north  and  soutli  they  hang  on 
witli  the  persistence  of  bull-dogs.  The  river  in  i.he  olden  times  must  have  swelled 
to  a  lake  here,  and  cut  the  gap  through  the  li'ie  of  mount  lins  that  stretch  north 
and  south,  being  aided  by  countless  creeks  and  nameless  streams.  Bald- Eagle  (,'ieek 
joins  the  river  here,  and,  in  spring-time,  the  plain  in  front  of  the  ga])  is  one  stretch  of 
water.  The  town  is  built  away  from  tiie  Juniata,  and  rises  in  terraces  along  the  Bald- 
l-^agle  Creek,  the  foot-hills  being  highly  cultivated.  There  is  (piitc  a  wealth  of  pine 
on  these  mountains,  though  it  is  all  second  growth,  every  hard-wood  tree  having  iieen 
cut  down  to  supply  charcoal  for  the  Tyrone  forges,  which  originated  the  city,  though 
now  it  is  a  centre  for  the  mountain  railroads.  The  scenery  around  is  decidedly  Alpine 
in  character;  and  some  of  the  roads  made  for  the  lumber  business  traverse  regions  of 
savage  lieauty.  Thunder-storms  are  of  daily  occurrence  up  in  lliese  lieigiils,  and  luckless 
is  the  stranger  wight  nho  trusts  to  bis  umbrella;  for  the  winds  will  tuin  it  inside  out, 
and  will  propel  it  forward,  dragging  its  reluctant  owner  to  the  brink  of  precipices,  and, 
after  giving  him  chills  of  terror,  will  at  length  drag  it  from  his  grasp,  and  leave  him  um- 
i)rellaless,  exposed  to  the  pelting  storm.  The  curious  thing  about  these  storms  is,  that  one 
tioes  not  last  live  minutes,  and  the  sun  is  out  and  ilrying  one-  habiliments  long  before 
such  a  thing  could  he  hoped  for.  But  the  clouds  whirl  about  the  mountains  so  furiously 
that  one  is  sure  to  be  caught  several  times,  and  the  writer  was  wetted  to  the  skin 
three  distinct  times  when  descending  \  inking-Kun  Hill,  a  mountain  about  six  miles  from 
Tvnine.  The  view  presented  by  the  artist  is  taken  from  an  old  road  now  discontinued 
for  lumber  travel,  which  starts  from  the  'idc  of  the  mountain,  about  half-way  up,  and  de- 
Mcnds  circuitously  to  the  base  of  the  opposite  mountain.  Wild-cherries  and  whoitlc- 
'Miiits  grow  in  abundance,  and  the  route  is  shaded  by  pirns  and  hickories,  while  an  oc- 
iMonai  spruce-tree  adds  variety  to  the  foli.»g«\  The  waters  of  the  run  are  agiceable  to 
liink,  though  impregnated  by  sand.  In  the  spring  of  the  vear  the  mountains  aie  one 
M,i/e  of  rhododendron  blossoms.  Then  is  the  time  to  visit  them  if  one  is  not  afiaid  of 
wit  feet ;  for  the  waters  aa-  then  out  in  ever)-  direction,  at\d  tiny  runs  of  water  trickle 
icioss  the  roa-l  cvcn'whcre. 


ON    THE    OHIO. 


WITH    II.I.rSTRATIONS    HV    AII-RKD    K.    WAUO. 


'I  1; 


Thf   <  '111"),   iii'i'  I A     i  niMiiirj;. 


;;:i 


/'^  IIIv-\'()  is  a  \Vy;\mlot  word,  sij^jnilyiiij^r  "  I'air  to  luok  upon."  The  early  I  anih 
^-^  i\|)l()iors,  lloaJinjr  down  thf  river's  jxentle  tide,  adopted  the  name,  translatinji  it  into 
their  own  toniiiie  a^  /a  licllc  Rhicre,  and  the  l-ln^ilish,  who  here  as  elsewhere  throiiiilmut 
tlie  West,  stepped  into  the  possessions  of  the  French,  took  thi  word  and  its  spillint;. 
Iiul  >,M\c  it  their  own  pronunciation,  so  that,  instead  of  ()-he-yo,  we  now  have  llu  Ohio. 
It  is  a  loveK ,  jjentle  stream,  ilowinii  on  hetvveen  the  North  and  South.  It  dni  s  i.ni 
hustle  and  rush  alonij  over  rocks  and  down  rapi<ls,  turning  mills  and  factories  (in  ii>' 
wav,  and  hurryii.,f  its  lioits  up  and  down,  after  the  manner  of  husy,  anxious  N.nthim 
rivers;  neither  does  i',  ^u  to  sleep  ,ill  alone  shore  and  allow  the  forest  llotsam  !'■  clis; 
up  its  channel,  like  ilic  .Southern  streams.  IJut  none  the  less  has  it  a  charaeln  ol  iiv 
own,  which  nt.ikes  its  identic  impression,  day  liy  day.  like  a  tpiiet,  sweet-voiced  woin.in 
whit  moves  throuirh  life  with  more  power  a!  her  gentle  command  than  the  more  heiuiti- 
hd  and  more  lirilliaiit  around  her. 

Ntt  river  in  the  world  has  such  a  len^rth  of  uniform  smooth  curient.     in  and  nut  it 


iMrnch 
li;   it  iiili) 

(lUiilldUt 

'•IKHini.'. 
he  ()\m 

lldlS    lidl 

s  (in  it'' 
Niiithi'rii 

I..  iU 

m|     its 

wciii.in. 
iicaiili- 

I  I  lilt  It 


4 


I 


m 


ON    THE    OHIO. 


147 


meanders  for  one  thousand 
and  seven  miles ;  it  is  never 
in  a  inirry ;  it  never  seems 
It)  be  fi^oinfr  anywhere  in  par- 
ticular, but  has  time  to  loiter 
aiujut  among  the  coal  and 
irmi  mines  of  Pennsylvania; 
to  ripple  around  the  moun- 
tains of  West  Virginia;  to 
make  deep  bends  in  order 
to  lake  in  the  Southern  riv- 
ers, knowing  well  that  thrifty 
( )iiio,  with  her  cornfields  and 
villages,  will  fill  up  all  the 
angles;  then  it  curves  up 
northward  toward  Cincinnati, 
as  if  to  leave  a  broad  land- 
sui'i'p  lor  the  beautiful  blue- 
^rass  meadows  of  Kentucky ; 
and  at  North  Hend  away  it 
jrlides  again  on  a  long  south- 
western stretch,  ilown,  down, 
along  the  southern  borders  of 
Indiana  and  Illinois,  and  after 
making  a  last  curve  to  rr- 
itivc  the  twin-rivers  —  the 
(  uinbii' ind  and  the  long, 
iiiouDtain-born  Tennessee — it 
iiii\('s  its  waters  with  the 
Mississippi,  one  thousand 
mil(s  above  the  ocean. 

The  Oliio  is  formed 
IVom  the  junction  of  two 
rivers  as  unlike  as  tW(»  riv- 
ris  can  be:  the  nort'  rn  pa- 
rnii,  named  Allcghanv,  which 
--innififs  "  clear  water."  is 
1  (juick  transparent  ■nrream, 
'  ;;ming    <iown    direct Iv    lr«>m 


% 


ili 


I      ^ 


148 


P/C  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


rh»"  north  .  while  the  w)iithfrn  part-nt,  named 
Mononirahela.  which  sipnihes  •  Fallinir  -  in 
Imnks,"  comes  even  more  (lir<'cri\  from  the 
south — its  shnv,  xcilow  tide  aiifrtn*'ntcd  hy 
the  waters  of  the  Nouirldo^rheny — a  name 
whose  jnwinunciation  is  mysterious  to  all  hut 
r\\v  initiated,  a  shildiohth  of  Western  Penn- 
•rt'lvania.     These  two  rivers,  so  unlike  in  their 

wjorees,  their  natures,  ;ind  the  people  alonir  their  hanks,  unite  at  Pittshurii  foniv 
inu  the  Ohici  which  from  that  point  to  its  mouth  receives  into  itself  m-vhuv- 
five  trihutaries.  crosses  seven  Stales,  and  holds  in  its  emlirace  one  hundred  isJamK 
Ihe  hills  alon^r  tlie  Ohio  are  hijrh,  round-topped,  and  covered  with  verdure;  in  smt- 
places  tlu'V  rise  ahniptlv  from  the  water  live  hundrid  feet  in  heiirht.  and,  in  others 
thev  lie  hack  from  the  river,  leaving  a  strip  of  hottom-land  iK-tween,  whose  cv.n, 
jrreen  e\(.anse  is  a  picture  of  plenty  the  ideal  fat  lields  which  a  New  -  l-.Hijlami 
farmer  can  see  nnlv  in  his  dreams.  On  the  southern  side,  when  lh<-  hills  are  .ilirupt 
and  then'  is  no  hottom-land,  the  orii>inal  forest  remains  in  all  its  denscness,  ami 
we  s,e  the  iiv«-r  and  its  shore  as  the  hrst  explorers  saw  them,  when,  ^lidinii  down  in 
caniHS  almost  tw<i  centuries  a^v>,  tiiey  jfave,  in  their  enthusiasm,  the  name  of  lidk 
Rhine,  which  the  Indians  had  iriven  lon>r  hefore.  Ihe  verdure  is  vivid  and  luMiriant; 
Ihe  round  lops  of  the  swellmji  hills  an-  like  j-ieen  velvet,  so  full  and  even  is  the  foliage, 


ON    THE    OHIO. 


149 


foliage, 


and  when,  here  and  there,  a  rocky  ledge  shows  itself  on  the  steep  river-side,  it  is  veiled 
with  vines  and  tufts  of  bright  flowers,  the  red-bud  and  blue  blossoms  growing  in  patches 
so  close  to  the  rock  that  it  looks  as  if  it  were  lapis-lazuli.  The  river  constantly  curves 
ami  bends,  knotted  like  a  tangled  silver  thread  over  the  green  country.  Every  turn 
sliows  a  new  view :  now  a  vista  of  interval  on  the  north  ;  now  a  wooded  gorge  on  the 
south  ;  now  a  wall  of  hills  in  front,  with  scarcely  a  rift  between  ;  and  now,  as  the  stream 
doubles  upon  its  track,  the  same  hills  astern,  with  sloping  valley-meadows  separating  their 
wooded  sides.  There  is  no  long  look  ahead,  as  on  the  Hudson — no  clear  understanding 
of  the  points  of  the  compass,  as  on  the  broad  St.  Lawrence  ;  the  Hag-staff  at  the  bow 
veers  constantly ;  the  boat's  course  is  north,  south,  east,  or  west,  as  it  happens,  and  the 
perplexity  is  increased  by  a  way  they  have  of  heading  up-stream  when  stopping,  so  that, 
although  you  may  begin  the  day  with  a  clear  idea  which  side  is  \"irginia  and  which 
Ohio,  by  the  time  the  boat  has  finished  the  chasst's,'xn<\  turns  necessarily  to  its  first  stop 
,nul  reached  tlie  bank,  you  have  lost  your  bearings  entirely,  and  must  either  join  the  be- 
wildered but  persistent  in(iuirers  who  besiege  the  captain  all  the  way  from  Pittsburg  to 
Louisville  with  the  (juestion,  "Which  side  is  Ohio,  eai)tain,  and  which  side  Kentucky?" 
(II  else,  abandoning  knowledge  altogether,  and,  admiring  the  scenery  as  it  changes,  float 
(in  without  a  geographical  care,  knowing  that  you  will  reach  Louisville  some  time,  et 
finchrca  nihil.  For  e.xercise  there  is  always  the  carrying  of  chairs  from  one  side  of  the 
boat  to  the  other,  as  the  frequent  turns  bring  the  afternoon  sunbeams  under  the  awning; 
vou  mav  walk  several  miles  in  this  way  each  day.  It  is  a  charming  way  of  travelling 
in  the  early  spring,  when  the  shores  are  bright  with  blossoms  and  fresh  with  verdure. 
The  ri\er-stcamers,  with  their  wheels  astern  and  their  slight,  open  hulls,  like  summer- 
hmists  alloat,  go  slowly  up  and  down,  and  whistle  to  each  other  for  the  channel,  accord 
ing  to  (luir  load.  The  crews  are  motley,  black  and  white,  and.  as  the  boats  pass  each 
(itliii  vou  can  see  them  lying  on  the  lower  (krk,  idle  and  contented,  while  the  jollv 
laugh  of  (he  negro  echoes  out  almost  constantly,  lor  he  laughs,  as  the  birds  sings,  by  in- 
stimt.  On  the  northern  shore  of  the  U|)per  Ohio,  the  railroad  to  I'ittsburg  is  seen; 
the  long  trains  of  yellow  cars  rush  b\-,  their  shrill  whistles  coming  from  the  steep  hill- 
side over  the  water,  as  if  remonstrating  with  the  boats  for  their  lazy  progress,  in  truth, 
ilie  boat^  (III  their  work  ir,  \  Itisuielv  way.  A  man  appears  f)n  the  bank  and  signals, 
liut  even  he  is  not  in  a  hurrv,  fiiv'mg  a  comfortable  seal  before  he  begins  lii^  waving  ; 
then  the  captain  confers  with  the  mate,  the  deck-hands  gather  on  thv  side  to  inspect  the 
man,  an  '  ''I  so  slowlv  tkit  you  feel  sure  the  boat  will  not  stop,  and  look  forward  toward 
the  ne.xt  bend.  Hiu  th<  engine  pauses  ilie  stiimei  veers  slowly  round,  nins  its  head  into 
the  bank;  out  comes  the  pl.ink,  and  out  cimH  tSe  motlev  cnw  who  pnH-a-d  to  bring 
on  board  -^tnhenware,  lutnlxr,  or  whatc  r  thv  waving  t\v«\  has  ivadv  (»»•  thero.  while 
hi  still  seatecl,  watches  the  work,  and  fans  himsi-lf  with  his  mttW  hdl.  To  eves  accus- 
1    neJ  to  the   iHCJii,  01   the  deep    lakes    and    ii\.i>    ot    thv    North,  with    \\\\\\   lung   piers, 


ISO 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA . 


ri 


solid  docks,  and  steamers  drawine;  many  feet  of  water,  this  landinj^  with  the  ease  nf  a 
row-boat  is  new  and  strantjc.  Tiic  larirc  towns  liave  what  tiiey  call  a  Icvcc — pronomiceci 
kvy — which  is  nothinij  more  than  a  rouii;h  stone  pavement  over  the  slojiinjr  bank  ;  hut 
the  villajjes  off  the  railroads,  where  the  steamers  generally  sto|)  for  freijjht,  have  notliinj^r 
but  an  old  flat-boat  moored  on  the  shore  ;  and  many  or'  tiiem  have  not  even  this,  Tlic 
large,  handsome,  well-lilled  steami)oats  run  rit>ht  u])  into  the  bank,  so  that  even  a  plnik 
is  hardly  necessary  for  landintj,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  take  your  bai^  and  step 
ashore.  The  .steamers,  large  as  tliey  are,  draw  but  a  few  feet  of  water;  their  bulk  is 
above,  not  below,  the  tide ;  they  float  along  like  a  i)laiik  ;  and  tliere  are  no  wavt  s  to 
dash  over  their  low,  open  ilecks.  If  tliey  run  aground,  as  they  often  lio  in  the  \ar\iiiir 
channel,  down  comes  a  great  beam,  fastened  with  tackle  like  a  derrick,  on  the  bow.  and, 
this  having  been  pushed  into  the  river-bdttom,  the  engine  is  started,  and  the  boat  pried 
off.  If  there  is  a  fog  at  night — as  there  often  is — the  captain  ties  up  his  boat  to  tin; 
baidv,  and  all  hands  go  to  sleep,  which  is  a  safe  if  not  i)rilliant  course  to  pursue.  Id 
this  wav  the  voyage  from  Pittsl)urg  to  Cincinnati  becomes  uncertain  in  duration;  liut 
wherefore  hurry  when  the  Ohio  farms,  tlie  \'irginia  mountains,  and  the  Kentucky  iiuad- 
ows,  are  radiant  with  the  beauty  of  spring,' 

The  mouth  of  the  Ohio  River  was  first  discovered  in  iGSo,  but  its  course  was  not 
e.\|)lored  until  seventy  years  afterward,  its  long  valley  having  remained  an  unknown  land 
when  the  Miv,;i-;~ippi  and  tiie  Rl\\  River  of  the  South,  as  well  as  Lake  Superior  and 
the  Red  River  of  lh(.'  Nortli,  had  been  explored  and  (kdineated  in  maps.  In  1750  the 
French  jienetr.ited  into  the  Ohio  wilderness,  the  first  ubite  navigators  of  the  Beauiilul 
River.  They  claimed  the  basins  of  the  lakes  and  tlie  Mississii)pi  and  its  tributariis  as 
New  France,  and  began  a  line  of  forts  stretching  from  their  settlements  in  Canad.i  to 
their  selllemeins  in  I.;iuisiaiia.  The  head-waters  of  the  Ohio,  at  ihe  junction  ol  ilu' 
Allcghanv  and  Monongahela,  w,\s  a  commandin.g  point  in  this  great  chain  of  int 'ni.d 
navigation,  and,  at  an  earlv  date,  became  a  bone  of  contention,  for  tlu'  British  were 
jealouslv  watching  e\'erv  adv.mee  of  their  rivals  as  the\-  pushed  their  dominion  mi  imv- 
ard  the  smitii.  In  1750  ( 'apt.iin  Celeron,  a  Fiench  tflTuir,  was  sent  from  Canad,!  to 
take  possession  of  the  Ohio-F^iver  \'alley ;  this  eeri'mom  he  pciiormcd  by  depi^  iiinif 
leaden  plates  along  tlie  shore,  and  then  returned,  ^atistied  that  all  was  well.  Tin 
these  talismans  havi-  been  discovered  in  modern  limo.  The  following  is  a  translati 
one  of  the  inscriptions:  "in  the  year  i  750,  we,  Celeron,  commandant  of  a  detachment  hv 
Monsieur  the  Manpiis  of  Oallisoniere,  connnander-in-ihief  of  New  !■" ranee,  to  esl.ddish 
tran(|uillity  in  certain  Indian  villages  of  these  cantons,  have  buried  this  jilate  on  tin 
Ueautiful  River  as  a  monument  of  renewal  of  possession  which  we  have  taken  of  '■m\ 
river  and  it«  tributaries,  and  of  all  Ihe  land  on  l)oth  sides;  inasmuch  as  the  (jreceilinu 
kings  of  France  have  engaged  it  and  maintained  it  by  their  arms  and  by  treaties,  (^pe- 
ciallv  by  those  of  Ryswick,   Ulrechl.  and   Ai.\-la-Chapelle." 


I  Ml    ol 


)Uiicccl 
:  ;  liul 
olhiiiir 
The 
I 'lank 
:l   step 


i'cs  to 


i\v.  and, 


pried 
tfi    the 


hut 


nicad- 


as  iKit 
11  hind 


or  an(t 


50  the 
;autifiil 


laila  to 


ol    ilie 


Iti'llU'l 


)ll    I()\V- 


lada   lo 


itiiiR 


II   liv 
•>laldish 
on    the 
if   '■aid 


^'CnUIlj; 


V    fi 


If- 


152 


PIC  TUR  ESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA . 


These  plates,  buried  with  so  much  ceremony  by  the  officers  of  Louis  XV.,  could 
not  have  exercised  mucii  moral  inliiience  throutjh  the  p^rounii,  for,  from  that  time  cm 
there  was  fijjhting  alonjj  the  Beautiful  River  and  Its  tributaries  for  more  than  sixty 
years,  an<'  no  '  tran<iuillity  "  in  those  "cantons,"  fro:  Braddock's  defeat  to  Aaron  iiurr's 
conspiracy,  from  Cicorge  W^ishinjjton's  tirst  military  expedition  to  the  brilliant  campaitrns 
of  young  Harrison,  whose  tomb  can  be  seen  from  the  steamer  a  few  miles  below  Cin. 
cinnati. 

In  j)ursuance  of  their  plan,  the  French,  in  1755,  built  a  fort  near  the  present  site 
of  Pittsburg,  naming  it  Duquesne,  after  the  Governor  of  Canada,  having  taken  pos- 
session of  the  unfinished  work  which  the  Virginians,  on  the  recommendation  of  tin- 
young  surveyor,  George  Washington,  had  commenced  there.  The  war  at  that  time  iioinir 
on  between  Fhigland  and  France  had  been  so  unfortiniate  for  the  former  nation  that 
Horace  W'alpole  had  said,  "  It  is  time  for  England  to  slip  her  cable  and  float  away  intd 
some  unknown  ocean." 

Braddock  had  been  defeated  on  the  Monongahela,  owing  to  his  ignorance  of  Imliaii 
warfare  ;  he  died  during  the  retreat,  and  was  buried  under  the  road  in  the  line  of  inarch. 
But  when  Pitt,  the  great  statesman,  took  the  luiglish  helm,  he  changed  the  current  of 
events,  and,  toward  the  close  of  1758,  (General  Forbes  took  I'ort  Ducjuesne  from  the 
French,  rebuilt  the  burned  walls,  and  named  it  after  the  Karl  of  Chatham,  a  nanu-  the 
present  city  has  retained. 

After  several  years,  during  which  the  little  post  maintained  a  precarious  existence  in 


J      JS. 


>i     J 


Tlie  Oliio,  from  Marietta. 


ON    THE    OHIO. 


'53 


A I    Muskingum. 

till'  wililerncss,  Pontiac's  conspir- 
acv  burst  ii|)on  thi'  country,  aiul 
I'orl  Pitt,  with  its  handful  uf 
nitii,  was  closely  invested  by  the 
Indians,  wiio  had  succeeded  in 
capturinir  nine  of  the  British 
forts    in     the    west,    Detroit     and 

Nia<jara  alone  escaping.  Colonel  Boutiuet,  u  Swiss  officer,  whose  tlowery  name  bright- 
ens the  sombre  pages  of  Ohio-River  history,  as  his  deeds  brightened  the  sombre  reality, 
came  to  the  rescue  of  Vo\X  Pitt,  supplied  the  garrison  with  provisions,  anil  dispersed  tlie 
Indians.  .Soon  after  lliis  the  French  gave  up  their  claim  to  the  territory,  and  then  began 
the  contest  between  the  Americans  and  the  British.  But  the  river-country  was  far  away 
in  a  wilderness  beyond  the  moi'.ntains  ;  and  in  1772  General  Gage,  the  commander-in- 
chief  of  tile  British  forces,  sent  orders  to  abandon  Fort  Pitt,  and  accordingly  the  ])ost, 
which  had  cost  the  English  Government  si.xtv  thousand  pounds,  and  which  was  designed 
to  secure  forever  British  empire  on  the  Beautiful  River,  passed  into  the  hands  of  the 
-Americans. 

The  present  city  of  I'ittsburg  has  the  picturesque  aspect  of  a  volcano,  owing  to  its 
numerous  manufactories  ;  a  cloud  of  smoke  rests  over  it,  and  at  night  it  is  illuminated 
by  the  glow  and  flash  of  the  iron-mills  filling  its  valley  and  stretching  up  its  hill-sides_ 
resting  not  day  or  night,  but  ever  ceaselessly  gleaming,  smoking,  and  roaring.  Looking 
down  on  Pittsburg  at  night  from  the  summit  of  its  surrounding  hills,  the  city,  with  its 
red  fires  and  smoke,  seems  Satanic.      Quiet  streets  there  are,  and  pleasant  residences  ;   the 

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PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


two  rivers  winding  down  nn 
citiier  side,  and  uniting  at  the 
point  of  the  peninsula,  the 
fijraeeful  bridircs,  tiie  watci- 
eraft  of  all  kinds  lyinu  at 
the  levee,  some  eoniinir  fmm 
far  New  Orleans,  and  oiIuin 
hound  u|)  the  slaek-walci 
into  the  interior,  are  all  pict- 
urestpie.  But  it  is  the  snidkc 
and  the  lires  of  i^ittshur^r  that 
(j^ive  it  its  eharaeter.  I  mai; illa- 
tive people,  heholdiiifr  it  \\\ 
nitjht,  are  moved  to  sul|i|uir- 
ous    (luolations,    and    hitliink 


themselv 


es    oi 


Dane 


es 


Ii 


ferno;"  and,   as    Mr.   lirodkc, 


of    Middlemareh 


would    sav, 


"  that  sort  of  tliinji." 

Anthony  Trollope  widtc. 
"It  is  the  i)Iaekest  place  1 
ever   saw,  hut   its  verv  hlack- 


iicss 


|)ict 


ures<|ue. 


I'arton 


sai( 


i,  "It  is   all   hell  with   ilif 


lid    taken    off."      In    thi    face 


if  the    facts    to   the  eontr 


irv, 


y(.)U  faney  that  I'ittshurjr  must 
he  a  wicked  city  ;  iuid,  as  liu' 
boat  glides  away,  verses  ediiie 
to  your  memory  alioul  ■tlif 
smoke  -)f  her  torinent  asenid- 
iiig  fo  evt-r  and  evei."  What 
a  grand,  lurid  picture  Tin- 
ner,   Uuskin's    art-god,  would 


in 


ule    of    I'ittshiiig 


hav« 
night  ! 

The  river  starts  a\va\ 
in  a  northwestern  <iii(tiinn. 
On   its  lian'..s,  nineteen  miles 


O.V    THE    OHIO. 


155 


from  Pittsburg,  is  the  (}uaint  German  t<jwn  of  Eeonomy,  founded  by  Father  Rapp,  a 
German  pietist,  who  emigrated  with  a  colony  from  WUrtemberg  in  1804.  'I'iie  little 
band  of  believers,  in  what  seems  to  us  a  dreary  creed,  made  one  or  two  changes  of 
location;  but,  after  selling  their  possessions  in  Indiana  to  the  well-known  Robert  Owen, 
a  man  of  kindred  enthusiasm  but  opposite  belief,  they  came  to  the  Ghio  River,  where 
their  village,  with  its  Old-World  houses,  tiled  roofs,  grass-grown  streets,  and  ([uiet  air, 
seems  hardly  to  belong  to  this  practical,  busy,  American  world,  l-'conomy  is  a  still 
abode  of  the  old  ;  there  are  no  homes,  no  children  there,  only  gray-haired  brothers  and 
sisters,  who  are  waiting  for  a  literal  realization  of  the  promises  of  the  millennium.  The 
society  is  rich  in  land,  oil-wells,  and  other  possessions,  all  held  in  common  ;  and  the 
thought  arises,  Who  is  to  inherit  this  wealth  when  the  last  aged  brother  has  b.en  buried 
in  the  moundless,  stoncless  cemetery,  where  the  pilgrims  lie  unmarked  under  the  even 
sod  .' 

The  course  of  the  river  here  is  dotted  with  old  derricks— tombstones  of  high  hopes; 
in  the  little  ravines,  where  the  creeks  come  down  to  the  Ohio,  these  gaunt  tVanuworks 
stand  thick,  like  masts  in  a  harbor,  as  far  as  you  can  see.  They  are  pathetic  spectres  in 
their  way,  for  they  tell  a  story  of  disappointment.  One  would  suppose  '.hat  the  great 
beams  were  wr/ith  taking  down  ;  but,  generally,  the  l)uildings  and  engine-hou.-'j  are  all 
complete,  abandoned  just  as  they  stood. 

The  State  of  Ohio  reaches  the  river  at  Columbiana  Countv.  This  was  a  fancy 
name,  formed  from  Columbus  and  Anna.  One  asks,  "Why  Anna,  moie  than  Maria  or 
jane?"  and  this,  no  doubt,  was  the  feeling  of  that  member  of  the  (Jhio  Legislature, 
who,  pending  its  adojnion,  rose  and  proposed  the  addition  of  Maria  as  more  euphonious, 
thus  making  a  grand  total  of  Columbiananiaria !  Op|)ositc,  as  the  river  turns  abruptly 
down  toward  the  south,  is  the  (jueer  little  strip  of  land  which  \'irginia  thrusts  up  toward 
tin  north,  the  ownership  of  which  is  probably  due  to  some  of  the  fierce  (juarrels  and 
compromises  over  land-titles  which  came  after  the  Revolution,  and  made  almost  as  much 
tiiiuble  as  the  great  struggle  itself.  Thi;  northern  arm  is  called  the  l*an-llandle,  \'ir- 
ginia,  undivided,  being  the  pan.  A  railroad  going  west  from  Pittsburg  has  taken  the 
name,  much  to  the  bewilderment  of  uninitiated  travellers,  who  frecjuently  called  it  P(i\- 
Ilandle,  with  a  vague  idea  that  it  has  something  to  do  with  stocks  and  accounts. 

Three  miles  below  Steubenville  was  an  old  Mingo  town,  the  residence  of  Logan, 
the  Mingo  chief.  This  celebrated  Indian  was  the  son  of  a  Cavuga  chieftain  of  i'enns\l- 
vania,  who  was  converted  to  Christianity  by  the  Moravian  missionaries,  the  only  rivals 
of  the  Jesuit  (iithers  in  the  West.  The  Cayuga  chief,  greatly  admiring  James  Logan, 
the  secretary  of  the  province,  named  his  son  after  him.  Logan  took  no  part  in  tin  old 
lienih  War,  and  remained  a  firm  friend  of  the  whites  until  the  causeless  murder  of  ,ill 
liis  family  on  tin-  Ohio  River,  above  Steubenville,  From  tli.it  timi'  his  haml  was  against 
lilt    white    man,  although,  from    the    curt    records   of  the    dav,  we    learn   tli.it   he  was  sin- 


>i  I 

; 

1: 


W 


iJ! 


SCENES    ON     TUT     OHIO.     ABOVE     AND     BELOW     CINCINNATI. 


H: 


ChV    THE    OHIO. 


'57 


jTuIarly  magnanimous  to  all  white  prisoners.  The  last  years  of  Logan  were  lonely.  He 
wandered  from  tribe  to  tribe,  and  was  finally  murdered  by  one  of  his  own  race  on  the 
banks  of  the  Detroit  River,  as  he  sat  before  a  camp-fire,  with  his  blanket  over  his  head, 
buried  in  thought.  But  his  words  live  after  him.  Logan's  speech  still  holds  its  place  in 
the  school  reading-books  by  the  side  of  the  best  efforts  of  English  orators. 

The  rivei,  as  it  stretches  southward,  is  here  fair  enough  to  justifv  its  name.  The 
X'irginia  shore  is  wild  and  romantic,  full  of  associations  of  the  late  war,  when  its  moi'.n- 
tain-roads  were  a  raiding-ground,  and  its  campaigns  a  series  of  cavalry-chases,  without 
those  bloody  combats  that  darkened  the  States  farther  south.  There  was  not  much 
glory  for  either  side  in  Western  Virginia,  if  glory  means  death  ;  but  there  were  many 
bold  rides  and  many  long  dashes  over  the  border  and  back  again,  as  the  dwellers  in  the 
ramiiling  old  river  farm-houses,  with  their  odd  little  enclosed  upper  piazzas,  know.  At 
Wheeling  the  national  road,  a  relic  of  stage-coach  days,  crosses  the  river  on  its  west- 
ward way.  This  turnjiike  was  constructed  by  the  national  government,  beginning  at 
Cumberland,  in  NLiryland,  crossing  the  mountains,  ana  intended  to  run  indefinitely  on 
westward  as  the  country  became  settled.  But  railroads  took  away  its  glory,  and  the  oc- 
casional traveller  now  finds  it  difficult  to  get  an  explanation  of  this  neglected  work,  its 
laborious  construction  and  solid  stone  bridges  striking  him  as  he  passes  through  Central 
Ohio,  although  the  careless  inhabitants  neither  know  nor  care  about  its  origin.  In  the 
Old  World  it  would  pass  as  a  Roman  road. 

Marietta,  in  Washington  County,  Ohio,  is  the  oldest  town  in  the  State.  It  is  situ- 
ated in  the  domains  of  the  N'ew-England  "Ohio  Company,"  which  was  cjriginally  organ- 
ized to  check  the  advance  of  the  French  down  the  river.  Marietta  has  a  |)ictures(]ue 
j)ositi()n,  lying  in  a  deep  bend  where  the  Muskingum  flows  into  the  Ohio,  with  a  slender, 
curved  island  opposite,  like  a  green  crescent,  and,  beyond,  the  high,  rolling  iiills  of  \'ir- 
ginia  on  the  southern  shore.  The  Ohio  Company  owned  one  million  five  hundred 
thousand  acres  along  the  river;  and,  in  Noveml)er,  1787,  they  sent  out  their  first  colony, 
ftirty-seven  men,  who,  taking  Braddock's  road,  originallv  an  Indian  trail  ovrr  the  moun- 
tains, and  trudging  01.  patiently  all  winter,  arrived  at  the  V'oughiogheny,  or  "  Voh,"  as 
they  called  il,  in  April,  and,  launching  a  llat-l.oat,  sailed  down  to  the  mouth  of  tiie 
Muskingum,  where  they  made  a  settlement,  naming  it  Marietta,  in  honor  of  Maiie 
Antoinette.  These  i>ioneers  were  New-Lnglanders ;  their  (lat-boat  was  called  the  Mav- 
lliiwer;  and  their  first  act  on  landing  was,  to  write  a  set  of  laws  and  nail  them  to  a 
tree.  Washington  said  of  them,  "  No  colony  in  America  was  settled  unde.  such  favor- 
ai)le  auspices  as  that  on  the  Muskingum."  A  little  stockade-post,  called  I'ort  Ilarmar, 
had  been  built  here  two  years  Iiefore.  It  was  occupied  by  a  detachment  of  '.iiited 
States  troops,  who  did  gooil  service  in  protecting  the  infant  colony  from  the  Indians, 
anil  then  moved  on  toward  C^ineinnati.  lutiigranls,  soldiers,  and  Indians,  are  always,  like 
poor  Jo,  "  moving  on."     The    little  village   on    the   bank   of  the    Muskingum    bears    the 


i   il 


81      i 


158 


P/C  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


M 


% 


\  .    \-       '! 


name  of  llu-  old  post,  Ilaimar.  At  MaiiLtta  were  foiiinl  the  remains  of  an  ancient  forti- 
fication— a  sijuare,  enclosed  l)y  a  wall  of  earth  ten  feet  high,  with  twelve  entrances,  eon- 
taininir  ;i  eo\ert  way,  bulwarks  to  defend  tiie  gate-ways,  and  various  works  of  elaborate 
construction,  including  a  moat  fifteen  feet  wide,  defended  by  a  parapet.  These  mv 
su|)i)osed  to  belong  to  the  era  of  the  niound-lniilders.  At  this  little  inland  settlenuiii 
siii|)-iuiilding  was  at  one  |)eriod  the  |)rinci|)al  occupation,  and  the  town  was  made  a  pint 
of  clearance.  There  is  a  curious  incident  connected  \.ith  this.  In  1S06  a  ship,  buih  ,it 
Marietta,  sailed  to  New  Orleans  with  a  cargo  of  i)ork  ;  and,  as  at  that  time  the  AiiKii- 
can  vessels  were  the  carriers  for  the  world,  it  went  on  to  luigland  with  cotton,  ami 
thence  to  St.  I'erersiiurg,  where  the  officer  of  the  j)ort  seized  the  little  ship,  declaiiiiir 
that  its  pa])ers  were  fraudulent,  since  there  was  no  such  seaport  as  Marietta.  But  the 
ca|)tain,  with  some  difhcuitv  procuring  a  map,  pointed  out  the  mouth  of  the  Mississi|i|)i, 
and  traced  its  course  u|)  to  the  Ohio,  and  thence  on  to  Marietta.  The  astonished  officer, 
when  this  sea|)ort  in  the  heart  of  a  continent  was  shown  to  him,  allowed  the  adventurous 
little  vessel  to  go  free.  Thirteen  miles  below  Marietta  is  Parkersburg,  in  West  \'i'ginia; 
the  old  Bel|)re,  or  Beautiful  Meadow,  in  Oiiio,  opjwsite ;  and  near  by,  in  the  river, 
Blennerhassett's   Island,  wiiich  has  gone  into  history  with  Aaron    lUirr. 

,\l  l'arkeisl)urg  the  Little  Kanawha  Hows  into  the  Ohio,  which  is  here  crossed  liv 
the  massive  iron  bridge  of  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad.  I'lulher  on  is  (ialli]iolis, 
where,  in  1  ;g(',  a  I'rench  coloiu'  laid  out  a  village  of  eighty  cabins,  protecteil  l)v  a 
stockade,  and,  even  in  the  face  of  starvation  took  time  to  build  a  i)allroom,  and  danced 
therj  twice  a  week.  Anxious  to  get  away  from  the  horrors  of  the  l've\olution,  ignorant 
of  the  '.ountry,  deceived  by  land-speculators,  these  poor  I'renchmen — carvers,  gilders, 
coach-  and  peruke-makers,  five  hundred  |)ersons  in  all,  with  only  ten  laborers  among 
them — sold  all  thev  had,  and  embarked  for  the  New  World,  believing  that  a  paradise 
was  iead\-  for  thmi  on  the  l)anks  of  the  beautiful  river.  They  named  their  village  the 
City  of  the  I'rench  ;  and,  unfitted  as  they  were  for  hoi.iii  r-life,  they  worked  with  a  will, 
if  not  with  skill,  i-^ariy  accounts  give  a  ludicrou-  j)icture  of  their  attempts  to  clear  the 
land.  .\  number  of  tlu'm  would  assemble  around  some  giant  sycamore;  part  would  piiil 
at  the  branches  with  ropes;  and  |)ail  would  hack  al  the  trunk  all  aroimd  until  llie 
ground  was  covered  with  chips,  and  the  tree  gashed  from  top  to  bottom;  a  whole  d.iv 
would  be  s|>enl  in  tlu'  task,  and,  when  at  last  the  tree  fell,  it  generally  carried  wiili 
it  some  of  its  awkward  executioners.  To  get  rid  of  a  fallen  tree  they  would  inaki  ,1 
dee|)  tieneli  alongside,  and,  witii  many  a  shout,  push  it  in  .ind  luirv  it  out  of  siglit 
certainly  a  novel  methoil  of  clearing  land.  Little  is  now  Kit  to  show  llu'  {'"rench  origin 
o(    ("i.dlipolis  save  a  few   I'rench   names. 

.\l  the  mouth  of  the  Oreal  Kanawha,  on  the  \'irginia  side,  is  Point  Pleasant.  Tliis 
stream  is  the  principal  river  of  West  X'irginia,  rising  in  the  mountains  and  winding' 
through  a  pictuiesipie  country  noilliwaid  to  the  Ohio.      Point    Plea.sanl  was   the    site   of 


li- ' 


H 


M 


liig:; 


u 


1 60 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Fourth   Street,    Cincinnati. 


the  bloodi- 
est I  ndian 
battle  of  till' 
river-valley,  when, 
in  1774,  one  thou- 
sand Americans 
were  attacked  bv 
the  flower  of  the 
Western  tribes  un- 
der the  chieftain 
Cornstalk.  The 
battle  raged  ail 
day,  but  the  In- 
dians were    rinallv 


overpowered,   and    retreated    to    their   towns    on    the    Chillicothe    plains. 

Kentucky,  which  comes  up  to  the  Ohio  at  the  mouth  of  the  big  Sandy  River,  is 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  States  in  the  country.  It  is  wild  without  being  rugged,  lu.x- 
uriant  but  not  closely  cultivated ;  once  seen,  its  rolling  meadows  are  never  forgotten.  It 
is  like  some  beautiful  wild  creature  which  you  cannot  entirely  tame,  in  spite  of  its 
gentleness. 

Stretching  back  from  the  river   are  vast    parks;   there    is    no    underbrush,  few  fences. 


h!    j; 
■i;      I 


^n 


=i::p 


II 


i 

i: 

■ 

f 


j  11:: 


ni( 


liu 


111^ 


wil 


hiij 
tio! 


in 


his 


ox  Tfii-:  OHIO. 


i6i 


iinil  r<^w  jiniin-lidds ;  the  ta-fs  air  majestic,  cacli  one  li\  itself,  and  hen'  and  there  stands 
a  holil  iiill,  >•'■  -i  riviT  comes  sweejiinir  over  a  limestone-bed.  It  is  the  jriazinfj-country 
ol"  America;  the  weaitli  of  its  iieople  is  in  tlu'ir  Mocks  and  herds;  and  there  is  a  tradi- 
tion that  thev  love  their  horses  better  than  tlu'ir  sweethearts  (let  us  rescue  that  last 
sveet  old  word  from  misuse).  Some  miles  back  from  the  river  lies  the  fainous  IMue- 
Orass  Countrv,  so  called  fropp.  the  blue  tinge  of  the  grass  when  in  blossom.  This  dis- 
irict  embraces  five  counties,  the  loveliest  in  Kentucky,  where  you  may  ride  for  miles 
throunii  a  |)ark  dotted  with  herds,  single  trees,  and  here  and  there  a  grove  shadowing 
the  rolling,  green  turf.     Until   1747  no  Anglo-Sa.xon  foot    had  touched    Kentucky,  whose 


*  'I'he    KhiiK'. 


forests  were  the  Indians'  tavorite  hunting-ground  ;  the  immigration,  when  it  did  com- 
mence, came  from  X'irginia  and  Maryland.  Daniel  Hoone  is  the  t\  pe  of  the  Kentuckv 
liiMiter.  Leaving  North  Carolina  in  1769,  he  came  westward  to  e.Namine  the  new  lumt- 
iiig-lields,  and,  after  three  years  of  wandering,  he  returned  to  bring  his  familv  to  the 
wild  home  he  had  chosen.  'I"he  country  is  full  of  legends  of  Hoone,  and  his  nan:^ 
lingers  on  rocks  and  streams.  The  old  man  became  restless  under  the  growing  civiliza- 
tion, and  went  to  Missoini,  where  he  could  hunt  undisturbed.  lie  died,  almost  with  gun 
in  hiuul,  in  1820,  at  the  age  of  (.ighty-nine.  A  ])ro|)liet  is  not  alwa\s  without  honor  in 
his  own    country:    the    peojile    of    Kentuckv   brought    back    the   liodv  of   the    old    hunter. 


I  I 


■  t 


te,:^ 


I    11 


l62 


PIC  TURESO  UH    A  ME  RICA. 


and  ir.tcrrol  it  on   fbe  hanks  of  the  rivtT  he  loved  in  life — in   Kain-tuck  cc.  the  "  Land  of 
tiie  Cane." 

Cincinnati,  the  Oueen  of  the  "'.  v'est,  was  first  settled  in  1778.  It  lies  in  Symmes's 
F^uichasv.' — land  stretehinsi  lietween  the  Great  and  Little  Miami,  called  in  eaily  descrip- 
tions the  Miami  ('ouutrv.  judge  Symmes's  nephew  and  namesake  was  the  author  of 
tiie  theorv  of  "Concentric  Spheres,"  a  theory  popularly  rendered  as  "Symmes's  Hole," 
He  was  buried  on  the  Purchase,  antl  his  monument  is  surmounted  by  a  globe,  upen,  ac- 
cording to  his  theory,  at  the  poles.  Cincinnati — too  generally  pronounced  Cincinnati)- 
received  its  high-sounding  name  fr. )m  General   St.  Clair,  in  honor  of  a  military  sociel\  to 


View   on    thr    khiiif. 


which  he  belonged.  I  he  general  rescued  the  int.inl  town  Irom  a  worse  late,  since  it  was 
then  laboring  under  the  title  of  Losantiville  /.,  the  first  letter  of  the  river  [.ickiiiu, 
which  Hows  into  llie  Ohio,  on  iIk'  Kentuckv  side;  os.  liie  mouth:  onti.  opj)osite  to; 
and  vtlli%  a  <ity.      1  he  ,;Ullior  of   this  conglomer.  le  did  not    long  survive. 

Cineinn.iti  was  foundid  in  romance.  Theie  we'c  two  other  rival  settlements  on  the 
river,  and  ail  three  witc  striving  for  the  po'^sessinn  nf  the  I'nited  States  fort.  North 
Bend  was  seUeted,  the  work  begun,  when  one  of  the  settlers,  observing  that  the  laiyhl 
e\cs  (if  1,1s  wife  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  commanding  onie<r,  moved  to  (in- 
eimuUi.      Hut   inimediatt  l\    ' 'ineinnati  was  discovered  to  be   the  better   site,  and    mnteriiil-* 


ON    THE    OHIO. 


i6: 


^iiKi'  it  was 


aiul  iiKii  wcri'  iiiovfd  up  tin-  river  witliuut  dclaw  Xorlli  Ik-nd  was  left  to  its  late,  and 
Cineinnati,  owiiifj  to  the  bright  oyts,  obtained  an  advantatje  over  lier  livals  from  that 
time,  steadily  i)ro_irrcssing  toward  her  present  j)!  ]iulation,  wliich,  ineluding  her  sui)iiri)s,  is 
iieari)  four  hu:uired  thousand.  The  city  proper  is  closely  built  in  solid  blocks,  rising  in 
several  plateaus  back  from  the  rivei  ;   it   is  surrounded  bv  a  circle  of  hills,  throutrh  which 


^'"^ 


The    Tyler- Dtvidsun   Kountain. 


How  the  Little  Miami  and  Mill  Cretk  There  are  manv  tine  buildings  in  Cincinnati; 
tint  the  beauty  of  the  city  is  in  its  suburbs,  where,  upon  the  Clifton  Hills,  are  ilu  most 
|>iclures(iue  residences  of  the  enliie  West  beautiful,  castli'-likc  mansions,  with  sweeping 
parks  and  a  wide  outh-ok  over  the  vallev.  The  people  of  Cincinnati  do  not  livt  in  their 
eitv:  !hey  attend  to  their  business  affairs  there  and  retire  oiit  to  the  hills  when  work 
is   over.     They  have   an    air    of  calm    conlentment    and    indi'ierence    to    tlu     rest    o|    the 


.-w 


>'■■ 


._. .1. 


I  ■■•!' 


ON    THE    OHIO. 


T65 


world ;  they  know  they  are  masters  of  the  river.  Pittsburg  is  hiritl  and  busy ;  Louis- 
ville is  fair  and  indolent ;  but  Cincinnati  is  the  queen.  She  has  no  specialty  like  Buffalo 
with  her  elevators,  Louisville  with  her  bourbon  -  warehouses,  Cleveland  with  her  oil-re- 
fineries, and  Pittsburg  with  her  iron-mills ;  or,  rather,  she  has  them  all,  and  therefore  any 
one  is  not  noticeable.     Within    the   city  is  one   picturesque   locality — the    German    <iuar- 

X^-x known  as  "Over  the  Rhine,"  the  Miami  Canal  representing    the    Rhine.      Hero    the 

German  signs,  the  fla.xen-haiied  children,  the  old  women  in  'kerchiefs  knitting  at  the 
doors,  the  lager-beer,  the  window-gardens  and  climbing  vines,  the  dense  population,  and, 
at  evening,  the  street-music  of  all  kinds,  are  at  once  foreign  and  southern.  In  the 
centre  of  the  city  is  the  Tyler-Davidson  Fountain — one  of  the  most  beautiful  fountains 
ii.  the  world.  The  figures  are  bronze,  cast  at  Munich,  Bavaria,  at  a  cost  of  one  hundred 
tliousand  dollars.  The  fountain  is  a  memorial,  presented  to  the  city  by  one  of  its 
millionnaires,  in  memory  of  a  relative.  It  bears  the  inscri])tion,  "To  the  People  of 
Cincinnati;"  and  the  people  are  constantly  drinking  from  the  four  drinking-fountains  at 
the  corners,  or  It  oking  \x\>  to  the  grand  goddess  above,  who,  from  her  beneficent,  out- 
stretched hands,  seems  to  be  sending  rain  down  upon  a  thirstv  land. 

ik'low  Cincinnati  are  the  vineyards,  stretching  up  the  hills  along  the  northern  shore. 
Floating  down  the  river  in  the  spring  and  seeing  the  green  ranks  of  the  vines,  one  is 
moved  to  exclaim,  "  This  is  the  most  beautiful  of  all,"  forgetting  that  (he  mountains  of 
X'irginia  and  the  parks  of  Kentucky  have  already  called  forth  the  same  words.  The 
native  Catawba  wine  of  the  West  was  first  made  in  Cincinnati,  and  the  juices  of  the 
vineyards  of  the  Beautiful   River  have  gained  an  honorable  name  among  wines. 

Bellevue,  in  Kentucky,  and  Patriot,  in  Indiana,  are  charming  specimens  of  river- 
scenerv,  the  latter  showing  the  hill-side  vineyards. 

The  navigation  of  the  Ohio  is  oi)structed  by  tow-heads  and  sand-bars,  and  bv  the 
remarkable  changes  in  its  depth,  there  being  a  variation  of  fiftv  feet  between  high  and 
low  water-mark,  in  the  early  days  a  broad  river  was  the  safest  highway,  as  the  forests 
(III  siiore  concealed  a  treacherous  foe  who  coveted  the  goods  of  the  immigiant  ;  hence 
once  over  the  mountains,  families  purchased  a  flat-boat  and  lloated  down-stream,  hugging 
the  Kentucky  shore.  These  Kentucky  Hats  were  made  of  grein  oak-plank,  fastened  l)y 
wooden  |)ins  to  a  frame  of  timber,  and  calked  with  tow,  and,  upon  reaching  their  desti- 
nation, the  immigrants  used  the  material  in  building  their  cabins.  As  villages  grew  up 
laiger  craft  were  introduced,  keel-boats  and  barges,  the  foriner  employing  ten  hands,  the 
latter  fifty  ;  both  had  a  mast,  a  scjuare-sail,  and  coils  of  cordage,  known  as  cordillcs,  and 
when  the  wind  was  adverse  they  were  jiropelled  by  long  poles,  the  crew  walking  to  and 
fro,  bending  over  their  toilsome  track. 

The  boatmen  of  the  ( )liio  were  a  hardv,  merry  race,  poling  their  unwieldy  craft 
slowly  alcmg,  or  gliding  on  under  sail,  sounding  a  bugle  as  they  a|)proaeheil  a  village, 
and  shouting  out  their  compliinents  tt)  the  girls,  who,  attracted  by  the  music,  came  down 


1 66 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


to  the  shore  to  sec  them  pass.  They  wore  red  handkerchiefs  on  their  heads,  turh^ni- 
fashion,  and  talked  in  a  jartion  of  their  own,  half  l-'rench,  half  Indian  ;  a  violin  formed 
part  of  their  eciuipment ;    and    at    ni<>ht,  <lra\\n    u|)    at    some  villajre,  they  danced    on    tlic 


JelTersonvillc,    Indiana. 

Hat  tops  of  their  boats — the  oritrinal  minstrels.  In  this  way,  as  the  old  sonjr  has  it, 
"  They  jjlided  down  the  ri\er,  the  (J-hi-o."  At  the  ])resent  day  these  flats,  or  arks,  ;nT 
still  seen,  propelled  with  i^reat  sweeps  instead  of  i)oles.  Thev  keej)  out  of  the  steanilmat 
channel,  and  lead  a  vajrahond  life,  tradiiitj  at  the  settlements  where  the  steamers  do  not 
stoj).  They  are  seen  drawn  uj)  in  the  shallows,  all  hands  smoking  or  lyinjr  half  asl(e|). 
as  if  there  was  no  such  tiiinij:  as  work  in  the  world.  A  canal-hoat  is  a  hiyh-toned,  in- 
dustrious boat  compared  with  one  of  tliese  arks  ;  for  a  canal-l)o,u  is  bound  somewliirc, 
and  goes  on  time,  although   it    may  be    slow  time,  while    the    ark    is    bound    nowhere    in 


^^^J 


New      \ll.,ui\,     Iri'li. 


particular,  and  is  as  likely  as  not  to  take  a  whole  summer  for  one  tri|)  down  the  river. 
Tlie  majority  of  the  Ohio-River  craft  are  tow-boats,  black,  puffing  monsters,  mere  grimv 
shells  to  (()\'er  a   poweiful  engini'.     If  low   means  to  pull,  then   the  name   of    tow-boat    i-' 


ON    THE    OHIO. 


167 


a  misnomer;  for  these  boats  never  pull,  hut  always  push.  Their  tows  go  in  front,  two 
or  three  abreast,  heavy,  open  tlat-boats,  filled  with  coal  or  rafts  of  timber,  and  behind 
conies  the  steamer  pushintr  them  slowly  alonfj^,  her  fr,eat  stern-wheel  churning  up  the 
water  Ijchinil,  and  her  smoke-stacks  belching  forth  black  streams.  Negroes  do  most  of 
the  work  on  the  river,  and  enliven  toil  with  their  antics.  A  night-landing  is  picturesque; 
an  iron  basket,  filled  with  flaming  ])ine-knots,  is  hung  out  on  the  end  of  a  ])ole,  and 
ihen,  down  over  the  plank  stream  the  negro  hands,  jerking  themselves  along  with  song 
)ke,  carrying  heavy  freight  with  a  kind   of  uncouth,   dancing  step,  and   sto])]Mng   to 


am 

laugli  with  a  freedoin  that  would  astonish  the  crew  of  a   lake-propeller  accustomed  to  do 

the  same  work  in  half  the  time  under  the  sharp  eye  of  a  laconic  mate. 

Jeffersonville,  Indiana,  is  a  riving  town  nearly  opi)osite  Louisville.  Here  is  the 
only  foil  in  the  Ohio  River — a  descent  of  twenty-three  feet  in  two  miles,  a  very  mild 
cataract,  hardly  more  than  a  rapid.  Such  as  it  is,  however,  it  obstructs  navigation  at 
low  stages  of  water,  and  a  canal  has  been  cut  around  it  "through  the  solid  rock.  New 
All)any,  Indiana,  a  few  miles  below,  is  an  imjiortant  and  handsomely-situated  town. 

Louisville — pronounced  Louyvillc  at  the  North,  but  Louisville,  with  the  s  carefully 
sounded,  bv  the  citizens  themselves — is  a  large,  bright  city,  the  pride  of  Kentuckv.  It 
was  first  s"ttled  by  Virginians  in  1773,  and  remained  for  some  time  under  the  jirotec- 
tion  of  the  mother-State;  even  now,  to  have  been  iiorn  in  X'irginia  is  a  Louisville 
l)atent  of  nobility.  The  city  is  built  on  a  slojiing  plane  seventy  feet  above  low-water 
mark,  with  broad  streets  lined  with  stately  stone  warehouses  on  and  near  the  river,  and 
beautiful  residences  farther  back.  I^ouisville  has  a  more  Southern  asjiect  than  Pittsburg 
and  (Cincinnati.  Here  you  meet  great  wains  piled  with  cotton-bales;  the  windows  are 
shadid  with  awnings ;  and  the  resiliences  swarm  with  servants — turbaned  negro  cooks, 
wlio  are  artists  in  their  line;  waiting-maids  with  tlie  stately  manners  of  their  old  mis- 
tresses; and  innumerable  children — eight  or  ten  j)airs  of  hands  to  ilo  the  work  for  one 
r.unily. 

I'l  the  Court-tlouse  is  a  life-like  statue  of  Henry  Clay,  a  man  whose  memorv  Ken- 
tuckv delights  to  honor.  His  grave  is  at  Lexington — the  most  stately  torn!)  in  the 
West,  if  not  in  all  America.  At  Louisville,  also,  begin  the  double  graves  of  the  late 
war.  The  beautiful  cemetery  contains  two  plats  where  the  dead  arinies  lie — Confederate 
soldiers  on  one  side.  Union  soldiers  on  the  other.  The  little  wooden  head-boards  tell 
sad  stories:  "Aged  twenty-two;"  "aged  twenty-three."  Often  there  are  whole  rows  who 
(lied  1)11  the  same  day,  the  woiinded  of  S(Miie  Southwestern  battle,  who  came  as  far  as 
Louisville  in  the  crowded  freight-cars,  and  died  there  in  the  hospital.  While  the  fathers 
and  mothers,  while  the  widows  of  the  dead  soldiers  live,  there  will  continue  to  be  two 
Decoration  Days.  lUit  the  ne.xt  generation  v,ill  lav  its  wreaths  upon  all  the  graves  alike, 
and  gradually  the  dav  will  grow  into  a  holy  nienu)ry  of  all  the  dead,  citi:<en  and  soldier, 
as  Time  sends  the  storv  of  the  war  back   into  the  annals  of  the  past. 


ii 


9WKt 

:■                      t 

\\    'I 


i'-; 


r    i'i 


!  ii 


THE    PLAINS    AND    THE    SHLRRAS. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    HV    THOMAS    MORAN. 


Witches'    Rocks,  Weber  Cafion. 


Till',    present    banishes    the    past    so    quickly    in    this    busy    continent    that    to    llu' 
younjxer  generation  of  to-tiay  it    already   seems   a    very  dreamy  and    distant    heroic 
age  wiien  men  went   out   ii|)on  the  great   prairies  of  the  West    as    upon    a    dreailed    kind 


THE   PLAINS   AND    THE    SHIRR  AS. 


169 


of  unknown  sea.  Evi-n  now,  i)crha|)s,  there  is  a  little  spiee  of  adventure  for  tlie  (juieter 
New-Knirland  citizen,  as  he  gathers  around  iiini  the  irrespective  contents  of  a  comfortable 
travelliuij-trunk,  and  glances  at  his  long  slip  of  printed  railway-tickets,  preparatory  to 
ihinukring  westward  to  look  out  at  the  great  stretch  of  the  Plains  from  tlie  am])lc 
window  of  a  perfectly-upholstered  sleeping-car;  hut  ho.w  remote  the  day  seems  when 
men  tightened  their  pistol-belts  and  looked  to  their  horses,  and  throbbed  (if  they  were 
\()Lmg)  with  something  of  the  proud  consciousness  of  explorers;  and  so  set  out,  Irom 
the  frontier  settlement  of  civilization,  upon  that  great  ocean  of  far-reaching,  level  grass- 
land and  desert,  to  cross  which  was  a  deed  to  be  talked  of  like  the  voyage  of  the  old 
Minvie!  A  single  title  of  Mr.  Ilarte's  has  preserved  ft)r  us  the  whole  spirit  of  those 
seemingly  (jld-time  journeys;  he  has  called  the  travellers  "the  Argonauts  of  '49,"  and  in 
this  one  phrase  lies  the  complete  picture  of  that  already  dim  and  distant  venture — the 
dreaded  crossing  of  "the   Plains." 

But,  although  the  "prairie  schooner" — the  great  white-tented  wagon  of  the  gold- 
seekers  and  the  pioneers — and  its  adiuncts,  and  the  men  that  rode  beside  it,  have  disap- 
|)eared,  we  cannot  change  the  I'lains  themselves  in  a  decade.  We  encroach  a  little  upon 
llair  borders,  it  may  be,  and  learn  of  a  narrow  strip  of  their  surface,  i)Ut  they  them- 
selves remain  practically  untouched  by  tiie  civilization  tiiat  brushes  over  them  ;  tiie\-  close 
luliind  the  scudding  train  like  the  scarce  broader  ocean  behind  the  stoutest  steamer  of 
I  he  moderns — a  vast  expanse  as  silent  and  unbroken  and  undisturbed  as  it  lav  centuries 
before  ever  rail  or  keel  was  dreamed  of  It  is  our  point  of  view  that  has  changed,  not 
tlK'\  ;  and  foi  all  of  us  there  remain  the  same  wonders  to  l)c  looked  u|)on  in  this  great 
h.ilf-known  region  as  were  there  for  the  earliest  Indian  fighter — the  first  of  the  adven- 
turous souls  that  went  mine-hunting  toward  the  (iolden  Gate. 

Our  time,  it  is  true,  attaches  a  different  signification  to  the  title,  "the  Plains,"  from 
that  wiiich  it  i)ore  little  more  than  a  (|uarter  of  a  century  ago.  In  iealit\',  tlieri'  extends 
from  tlie  very  central  jiortion  of  the  now  well-peopled  Western  States  to  the  virv  foot 
of  ilie  Rocky  Mountains  one  vast  reach  of  ])rai!ie — the  most  remarkable,  in  all  its 
features,  on  the  globe.  On  the  eastern  portion  of  this  are  now  tlu'  thoroughly  settled, 
grain-bearing  States — full  of  fertile  farms  and  great  cities,  and  no  longer  connected  in 
our  mind?;,  as  they  were  in  those  of  men  a  generation  before  us,  with  the  untried  lands 
of  exploration  and  adventure.  For  us,  the  boundarv  of  the  region  of  the  cx)mparalively 
unknown  has  been  driven  back  beyond  the  Mississippi,  beyond  the  Missouri,  even;  and 
the  Kastern  citizen,  be  he  ever  so  thorougiily  the  town-bred  man,  is  at  home  until  he 
crosses  the  muddy,  sluggish  water  that  Hows  under  Council  Hluffs,  and  hardly  i)asses 
out  of  the  land  of  most  familiar  objects  until  the  whistle  of  the  "  Pacific  express,"  that 
carries  him,  is  no  longer  heard  in  Omaha,  ami  he  is  fairly  under  way  on  the  great  level 
(>;    Nebraska. 

The   route    of  the    Pacific    Railwav  is    not    onl\    that  which    for    nianv  years  will    be 


%.m: 


170 


PIC  TUR  ESQ  Uli    A  ME  RICA. 


1-^ 


the  most  ramili;ir  |iatli  across  tlif  Plains,  and  not  only  tliat  wliich  |)asscs  m-arcst  to  the 
well-known  eniijrrant-roail  of  loinur  (lavs,  Iml  it  is  also  tlic  road  wliicli,  tli()iij,;li  it 
misses  the  nohler  beauties  ot   llu'    UoeUv    Mountains,  shows  tiie  traveller  the  prairie  iis,lf 

in  perhaps  as  tnu'  and  eharaclerisiit 
an  as|)ect  as  could  he  t'oinid  on  ;mv 
less-tried  course.  It  passes  thriuii^ii 
almost  e\cr\-  chantie  ol  piairie  seiiniv 
— the  fertile  land  of  the  east  and  the 
alkali  leyion  farther  on  ;  past  the  his- 
toric out|)osts  of  the  old  pionicrs; 
anionu  low  hiittcs  and  inirei|iirni 
"islands;"  and  o\er  a  I'oimtry  ahouinl- 
in<j:  in  points  of  \ii'W  horn  which  diic 
J       iL&  I     -I-    "KI^H         "^ll^H      l^lBKji  niav    take     in    all     the     features    iluu 

»    iW."  19  t^H f' ^^^K ,??!?■  mark    this    jiortion    of  the    eontiiuiit 

To  the  south,  the  threat  level  exp.iiisc 
is  hardU'  interrupted  before  the  shore 
of  the  (iidf  ol  Mexico  is  reacluil, 
and  the  Mexican  boundary;  to  llu' 
north,  the  hills  and  hiyh  table-land 
of  the  l'|)pi'r  Missouri  are  the  niilv 
breaks     this     side     of    the     ('an.'.diaii 

•t  .^MWl>.A.I  '  ;         ^j    m  M^mfilmii  i-'F  yk  border.      1  hrou^ii    almost    the    middle 

««fc» :   ■»!,"     ■^si*.^m     m.    ■n^^m'<  WjM/iT  x»«  ^^f    jj^j^    ^..|j.(     .|m[    ^^.]^.;,|■    j.xpiinse    ilie 

I'nion  Paciiic  Railway  runs  east  ,iiul 
west  a  lint'  of  life  ilowintf  like  a 
ri\er  throiiiih  the  Lireat  plain  -  the 
Kansas  Pacific  joinint;  it  at  the  mid- 
dle of  its  course,  a  tributary  of  110 
small   imiioitancc. 

Omaha  most  trulv  tyi)ical  (if 
those  bordi'r  towns  that,  all  tin- 
world  over,  s|)iin<i  u|)  on  the  vcri^H' 
of  the  eivili/ed  where  the  unexplored 
bejiins  stands  looking  out  upon,  the 
muck'.v  water  of  the  Missouri,  and  watchiuL;-  with  inti'restt'd  eyes  that  transient  tiav- 
eller  whom  it  ,<>;enerallv  entices  in  vain  to  linger  loni:  within  its  iiiecincts  a  town  that 
has  i)een  all  its  life  a  startiii!j,-place  ;  to  which  haidly  anybody  has  ever  come  with  (he 
thoii<rht  of  staviuii,  so  far  as  one  lau   learn   from    hearsay;   and    vet,  in    s|)ite    ot    the   tact 


I.* 


ircst    to   the 

,     lllOUJill     it 

naiiic  itself 
;liaraclcris|  ie 

111(1     (111     :iny 

ics    lliroiiuli 

airic  scnuiv 

-■ast  and  the 

past   tlic  liis- 

(1     piollicis; 

iiitVciiiicnt 

iiliy  alidimil- 

n  wliicli  (inc 

L'atiircs    that 

e    c(  lilt  incut 

■vrl  t'X|iaiisc 

w  llu'  sIkir' 

is    reached, 

lary;    t(i    the 

li    talilr-hiiui 

arc  the  mih' 

c     Canadian 

the    middle 

xpanse    the 

ns  east    and 

iiiii'    lil<^'    11 

plain      the 

It    I  lie  iiiid- 

lar\'    (il    11(1 

ty|)ieal    (if 
at,    all     the 

I  the  vciirc 
une.Npicicd 

I I  updP.  the 
iisieiit    trav- 

tdwn  ihat 
ic  with  llie 
(if   the    lad 


< 

< 

J 

(/)' 

w 

h 

h 
D 

m 

Q 

u 

^' 
o 

0 

a. 

J 
< 


f?* 


'ii  ill 


it 


i  ''! 


172 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


] 


if  '' 

i  'I 


that  every  man  seems  to  arrive  only  with  the  thought  of  departing,  a  prosperous,  thrift)* 
town,  not  ^vithout  a  look  of  ])ermanence,  though  not  of  any  age  beyond  the  meniury 
of  tlie  youngest  inhabitant.  In  its  direetory,  which  ine  writer  once  chanced  to  read  with 
some  care,  in  a  waiting  hour,  y(ju  may  lind  facts  that  will  startle  you  about  the  rapidity 
of  its  growth  and  the  splendor  of  its  resources.  At  its  station,  one  feels  a  little  of  tlu' 
old-time  pioneer  feeling,  as  lie  seems  to  cut  the  chain  that  binds  him  to  Eastern  life,  and 
is  whirled  t)ut  uj)on  the  great  grassy  sea  he  has  looked  at  wondcringly  from  the 
Omaha  hills. 

'i "he  word  "  valley,"  in  this  apparently  unbroken  plain,  seems  a  misnomer ;  hut  it  is 
everywlu'ie  used — as  in  regions  where  its  significance  is  truer — for  the  slight  depression 
that  accompanies  the  course  of  every  stream;  and  an  old  traveller  of  the  Plains  will  tdl 
you  that  you  are  "enteri.ig  the  valley  of  the  Fiatte,"  or  "coming  out  of  the  IV'iiilun 
\'alley,"  with  as  much  calmness  as  thougl:  you  were  entering  or  leaving  the  rocKiest  ami 
wildest  cafion  of  the  Sierras  .^Vnd  the  valley  of  the  Platte,  whereof  he  speaks,  liis 
before  one  almcf  t  immediately  after  he  has  left  the  Missouri  behind  him.  There  is  only 
a  short  reach  of  lailway  to  the  northwest,  a  sharp  turn  to  the  westward,  ami  the  clear 
stream  of  the  ri\er  is  beside  the  track — a  clear,  fidl  channel  if  the  water  is  high,  a  col- 
lectimi  (if  brooks  threading  their  wav  through  sandy  banks  if  it  is  low.  l-'or  more  than 
a  whole  dav  the  railwav  runs  beside  the  stream,  and  neither  io  the  north  nor  soutii  is 
lluie  iiotenorthv  changi'  in  the  general  features  of  the  scener\'.  A  vast,  fertile  plain,  at 
first  interiupted  \w\x  and  there  by  bluffs,  and  for  some  distance  not  seldom  dotted  In  a 
seller's  house,  or  b\  herds  of  cattle;  then  a  more  monotonous  regicm,  still  green  and 
briirht  in  aspect  ;  farther  on — beyond  I'ort  Kearney,  and  Plum.  Creek,  and  Mcl'herson, 
all  memorable  stations  with  many  associations  trom  earlier  times — a  somewhat  snddtn 
dying  away  of  the  verdure,  and  a  barren  country,  broken  by  a  few  ravines.  This,  a^ain, 
gives  place,  however,  to  a  better  region  as  the  Wyoming  boundary  is  ap|)roached. 

Along  this  reach  of  the  railway,  in  its  earlier  days,  stood  ambitious  "cities,"  two  or 
three  whose  ruins  are  the  only  reminders  now  of  their  existence.  They  are  odd  fealurt"« 
o*"  this  part  of  the  gieal  prairie,  these  (ksolate  lemains  of  i)laces  not  a  little  famous  in 
their  lime,  and  now  almost  foigotten.  The  walls  of  deserted  adobe  houses,  wherein  nun 
sat  and  |)laiined  great  futincs  for  these  towns  in  embryo,  look  at  you  drearilv,  not 
seldom  watching  over  thi'  graves  of  their  owners,  whose  schemings  were  nipped  in  thr 
very  bud  bv  the  de  isive  revolver-bullet  or  the  incisive  bowie,  as  the  un«piiet  deni/cns 
of  the  mushroom  metropolis  extirpated  their  fellow-citi/cns  like  true  |)ionccrs.  and 
"moved  on'   to  the  ne.xt    "terminus  of  the  road." 

'I'll!'  Wyoming  border  crossed,  a  new  legion  is  entered.  The  Plains  do  not  'iid, 
but  they  are  already  closelv  lutrdered,  within  sight,  by  the  far-outlving  spurs  ol  ihc 
Roi'kv  MoUiitains.  Beyond  the  civili/ed  oasis  of  (Cheyenne,  the  scenery  takes  mi  a 
darker  look,  and,  if  one  chances  to  come    to    tiiL    iittic   station    of   Medicine    IJow  uIkh 


THE    PLAINS    AND     THI:    SIERRAS. 


m 


.1(1    nni    .nil. 

|mrs    (il    llic 

takes   im  a 

IJovv  wluii 


■3 


^^*^"i*L^v-j;^'2^rp^4 


Hutlf«,  (irern    Riter. 


the  sunset  iR-gins  to  cast   lonp 
shadows  iVoiii  the  lil.uU   iiKum- 
tains   oil  the  soiitlicin   side   ol 
the  North   I'ork  of  tlie  I'hillc, 
there  is  somethinjf  ahimst  som- 
bre in  the  aspect   of  the   shaded    plain. 
The     Laiamie    plains    have    jnst    luen 
passed;    indeed,    they    still    lit'    to    the 
northward.     Hills  hreak   the  nionotoiu 
of  thiir    iiori/on,   and    here    and    there 
the   rejrular  forms  of  castellated   hutlis 
stand    out     sharply    against     the     sky. 
The  far-otf  Ked   lliittes  are  most  note- 
worthy mui  most  picturesi^ue  of  these ; 


1 

I 


i 


1  '■''. 
■ 


■ 


174 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


pfrouped  together  like  giant  fortresses,  with  fantastic  towers  and  walls,  they  lift  ragged 
edges  above  the  prairie,  looking  lonely,  weird,  and  strong.  Among  the  singular  shapes 
their  masses  of  stone  assume,  the  strangely-formed  and  pillar-like  Dial  Rocks  tower  up — 
four  columns  of  worn  and  scarred  sandstone,  like  the  supports  of  some  ruined  cromlech 
built  by  giants.  About  them,  and,  indeed,  through  the  whole  region  about  the  little  si(- 
tlements  and  army-posts,  from  the  place  called  Wyoming,  on  to  Bitter  Creek — ominously 
named — the  country  is  a  barren,  unjiroductive  waste.  The  curse  of  the  sage-brush,  and 
even  of  alkali,  is  upon   it,  and  it  is  dreary  and  gloomy  everywhere  sa-  e  on  the  hills. 

Onh  with  the  apjiroach  to  Green  River  does  the  verdure  come  again — and  then 
only  here  and  there,  geneially  close  by  the  river-bank.  Here  the  picturescjue  forms  of 
the  buttes  reai)pear — a  welcome  relief  to  the  monotony  that  has  markeil  the  outlook 
during  the  miles  of  level  desert  that  are  past.  The  distance,  too,  is  changed,  and  mi 
longer  is  like  the  great  surface  of  a  sca.  To  the  north,  forming  the  horizon,  stretches 
the  Wind-River  Range — named  \vith  a  breezv  poetry  that  we  miss  in  the  later  nomeii- 
claturc  of  the  race  that  has  tollowed  after  the  pioneers.  To  the  south  lie  tlie  Uint.di 
Mountains. 

At  some  little  tlistance  from  the  railway  the  great  Black  Buttes  rise  up  for  hun- 
dreds of  feet,  terminating  in  round  and  rough-ribbed  towers.  And  other  detached  columns 
of  stone  stand  near  them — the  Pilot,  seen  far  off  in  the  view  that  Mr.  Moran  has  drawn 
of  the  river  and  its  cliffs.  And  through  all  this  region  fantastic  forms  abound  every- 
where, tiie  architecture  of  Nature  exhibited  in  sport.  An  Eastern  journalist — a  travelkr 
here  in  the  lirst  days  of  the  I'acilic  Railway — has  best  enumerattd  the  varied  shajHs. 
All  about  one,  he  says,  lie  "long,  wide  troughs,  as  of  departed  rivers;  long,  level 
embankments,  as  of  railroad-tracks  or  endless  fortifications;  huge,  'juaint  hills,  suddenK 
rising  from  the  plain,  biaring  fantastic  shapes;  great  sipiare  mounds  of  rock  and  earlli, 
half-formed,  half-broken  pyramids— it  would  seem  as  if  a  generation  of  giants  had  built 
and  buried  here,  anil  left  their  work  to  awe  and  humble  a  punv  succession." 

The  Church  Butte  is  the  grandest  of  the  groups  that  rise  in  this  singular  and 
striking  series  of  tower-like  piles  of  stone.  It  lies  somewhat  further  on  beyond  (he  lililc 
station  of  Bryan,  and  forms  a  coni|)act  and  imposing  mass  of  rock,  with  an  outlyini: 
spur  that  has  even  more  than  the  main  bodv  the  air  of  human,  'hough  gigantic  aielii- 
tecture.  It  "imposes  on  tin-  imagination,"  says  Mr.  Bowles,  in  one  of  his  passages  dl 
clear  deseriptinn,  "like  a  grand  old  cathedral  g<'ing  into  deeav  (juaint  in  its  crumblinu 
ornaments,  nv.jeslic  in  its  height  and  breadth."  Ami  of  the  towering  forms  of  the  whole 
grou|),  he  says:  "They  seem,  like  the  more  numerous  and  fantastic  illustrations  n| 
N;iture's  frolicksome  art  in  Southern  Colorado,  to  be  the  remains  (>f  granite  hills  llnl 
wind  and  water,  and  especially  the  sand  whirlpools  that  march  with  loidly  force  thniuiiii 
the  air — liteially  moving  mountains— have  left  to  1(11  the  sto.y  of  their  own  achicM- 
meiits.     Not  unfitly,  there  as  here,  they  have  won  the  title  of  'Monuments  to  the  Gods." 


lift  ragged 
;ular  shapes 
tower  up — 
;d  cromlech 
le  little  sct- 
— ominously 
e-brush,  and 
he  iiills. 
I — and  thdi 
ic  forms  of 
the  outlook 
jed,  and  im 
L)n,  stretchts 
Iter    nomc'i- 

tlic    I'int.ili 

ip  for  hiir.- 
hed  columns 
1  lias  drawn 
»und  even- 
— a  travellir 
ried  shajies. 
long,    levil 


s,  suddiMiK 
md  iMilli, 
had    liuili 

ngular  and 

i  the  littlc 

n    outlyiiiii 

mtic   archi- 

)assages   ( if 

crumblin;; 

I  he  whole 

i.ilions   111 

hills   that 

ic   throu):h 

II    acliievi- 

he  Gods.'" 


-ti 


I 


I 


ii    \ 


176 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


This  point  on  the  Plains,  where  the  mountains — the  main  chains  running  northwest 
and  southeast — seem  to  send  out  transverse  ran<j;e;:  and  outlyin<j  s[)urs  to  intersect  tiie 
prairie  in  all  directions — if,  indeed,  we  may  speak  of  prairie  any  longer  where  the  level 
reaches  are  so  small  as  here  among  the  Rocks — has  interests  heyond  those  of  ils  nierelv 
picturesque  scenery.  While  we  have  spoken  of  the  cliffs  and  buths,  the  route  we  are 
pursuing  has  crossed  the  "  hackhone  of  the  continent " — that  great  water-shed  where 
the  waters  that  How  through  the  whole  east  of  the  country  se])arate  from  those  thai 
descend  towartl  tlii'  west.  It  is  at  Sherman — which  its  proud  neighiiors  and  few  lesidenis 
will   haughtily  but   truly  describe  to  you  as   "the  highest  railway -station    in    the  world" 


•  liunli    Hiillu,  I'uili. 


that  the  greatest  t'levation  is  reached;  for  the  little  group  of  buildings  tluvc  lies  eit^lit 
thousand  two  hundred  and  thirty-five  feet  a'.ove  sea-level.  It  is  impossible  to  realize 
that  this  height  has  been  attained,  the  ascent  has  lu-en  so  gradual,  the  scenery  so  uii- 
inarked  by  those  sharp  and  steep  foriris  which  we  are  accustomed  always  to  associate 
with  great  mountains. 

it  is  a  characteristic  of  this  whole  portion  of  the  Kocky-Mounfain  chain,  and  oiv 
that  disappoints  many  a  traveller,  that  there  are  here  no  imposing  and  ragged  peaks,  im 
sharp  summits,  no  snow-covered  passes,  and  little  that  is  wild  and  rugged.  All  that  those 
who  remember  Switzerland  have  been  accustomed  to  connect    in    their   minds  with   gKMt 


northwest 
terscct  the 
the  level 
its  nieielv 
Lite  we  arc 
lied  where 
those  that 
w  residents 
■  world " 


lies   liuht 

to    rcali/o 

erv  so    1111- 

o    assoei.ilc 


n,  and   mv 

I   peaks,  iin 

that  I  hose 

wilh    yiiMt 


1 


>f#:'*!?»«5-W^ 


iiii 


!    "'■:      t 


J 


^^ 


^^A'^ 


,  ■''■   4'-' 


iKW'WW?w^»r'^'»«w:'w* 


11 


1 


.1 

1 


THE    PLAINS    AND     THE    SIERRAS. 


m 


i; 


jrroiips    of    mountain- 
masses  must  he  sousjiu 
elsewhere.     The  Plains 
themselves     rise  ;     one 
does  not  leave  them  in 
Older    tf)  climl).     (^ver 
a    vast,    <xra>;< -covered, 
almost  unl)roken,  Ltrad- 
ual     slope,     extendinfj 
over  hundreds  of  miles 
of  country,  the  wayfarer  has    come    imperce|)til)ly    to   the   ij^rcat 
water-shed.     It  is  scenery  of  prairie,  not   of  hills  and  |)eaks,  that 
has  surrounded  his  journey. 

For  the  last  fiftv  miles,  indeed,  hefore  the  arrival  at  Shei- 
man,  the  rise  has  hecn  barely  appreciahle ;  hut  that  is  all.  A 
new  circumstance  makes  the  descent  from  the  <i;reat  height 
much  more  perceplihlc  and  cnjoyahle  thiouiih  a  new  sensation. 
It  is  then  that  the  traveller  over  duller  l-.astern  roads,  who  has 
llattrred  himself  that  the  "  lijrhtninfj  e.x])ress"  of  his  own  rey:ion  was  the  highest  possible 
liinn   1)1    railway    speed,  first    learns  the  leal  meaning   of   a    "down    grade."     The    descent 


^^^#^ 


178 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


from  Sherman  to  the  Laramie  I'lains  is  a  new  exj)crience  to  such  people  as  have  not 
slid  clown  a  Russian  ice-hill,  or  fallen  from  a  fourth-story  window.  Let  the  hardy  indi- 
vidual who  would  enjoy  it  to  the  full  betake  himself  to  the  last  platform  of  the  last 
car,  or  the  foremost  platform  of  the  front  one,  and  there  hold  hard  to  brake  or  railinj^, 
to  watch  the  bewitched  world  spin  and  whirl. 

But  we  have  returned  a  long  distance  on  our  course.  We  have  reached  the  Church 
Butte,  beyond  Bryan,  and  had  crossed  Green  River,  near  the  place  where,  on  the  old  over- 
land stajre-route  and  the  emigrant-road,  travellers  used  years  ago  to  ford  the  stream — no 
unwelcome  task,  with  that  great  Bitter-Creek  waste  of  alkali  still  fresh  in  the  memories 
and  hardly  out  of  their  view.  At  Bryan  Station,  too,  there  is  an  offshoot  from  the 
regular  path,  in  the  form  of  a  long  stage-road,  leading  away  into  the  northeast  to  the 
picturesque  mining-regi(jn  of  Sweetwater,  a  hundred  miles  distant,  where  man  has  spent 
endless  toil  in  searching  for  deceptive  "  leads." 

The  main  line  of  the  great  railway  goes  on  beyond  Green  River  through  the  vallcv 
of  a  stream  that  Hows  down  from  the  Uintah  Mountains;  and,  leaving  at  the  south  Fort 
Bridger  and  crossing  the  old  Mormon  road,  enters  Utah.  A  little  farther,  and  we  are 
among  the  noblest  scenes  of  the  journey  this  side  the  far-away  Sierras. 

As  t)n  the  Rhine,  the  long  stretch  of  the  river  from  Mainz  to  Cologne  has  been 
for  vears,  by  acknowledgment,  "  tlic  river,"  so  that  portion  of  tne  Pacific  Railway  that 
lies  between  Wasatch  and  Ogden,  in  this  northernmost  corner  of  Utah,  will  some  din- 
be  that  |)art  of  the  journey  across  the  centre  of  the  continent  that  will  be  especially 
regarded  by  the  tourist  as  necessary  to  be  seen  beyond  all  others.  It  does  ikiI  in 
grandeur  approach  the  mountain-scenery  near  the  western  coast,  but  it  is  uniipiu;  it 
is  something,  the  counterpart  of  which  you  can  see  nowhere  in  the  world ;  and,  lonji 
after  the  wiiole  Pacific  journey  is  as  hackneyed  in  the  eyes  of  Eurojjeans  and  v'imeiicans 
as  is  the  Rhine  tour  now,  this  ])art  of  it  will  keep  its  freshness  among  the  most  marked 
scenes  of  the  journey.     It  is  a  |)lace  which  cities  and  settlements  cannot  destroy. 

A  short  distance  west  from  Wasatch  Station  the  road  passes  through  a  tunnel  marly 
eight  hundred  feet  in  length.  The  preparation  for  what  is  to  come  could  not  be  better; 
and,  indeed,  the  whole  bleak  and  drearv  region  that  has  l)een  passed  over  adds  so  imieh 
to  the  freshness  and  ])icturesqueness  of  these  Utah  scenes  that  it  niav  very  possiblv  have 
contributed  not  a  little  to  the  enthusiasm  they  have  called  forth.  From  the  darkness  tlie 
train  emerges  suddenly,  and,  tunnel  and  cutting  being  passed,  there  lies  before  the  trav- 
eller a  view  of  the  green  valley  before  the  entrance  to  Echo  Cai'ion.  Through  it  ilov.s 
the  Weber  River,  bordered  with  trees,  and  making  a  scene  that  is  suddenly  depriveil  of 
all  the  weirdness  and  look  of  dreary  devastation  that  has  marked  the  country  through  so 
many  miles  of  this  long  journey.  The  valley  is  not  so  broad,  so  pastoral  in  aspect,  as 
that  which  comes  after  the  wild  scenery  of  the  first  cafion  is  passed ;  but  it  is  like  a 
woodland  valley  of  home  lying  here  in  the   wilderness. 


as  have  not 
e  hardy  imli- 
1  of  the  last 
:c    or   railing, 

d  the  Church 
the  old  over- 
le  stream — no 
the  memories 
oot  from  the 
theast  to  the 
lan    has  spent 

igh  the  valley 
he  south  I'ort 
r,  and    we   are 

itrnc    has   liecn 
Railway  that 
Lvill  some   day 
he    especially 
does    not   in 
is    uniiiue ;   it 
Id  ;   and,  lone 
md  Anieiicans 
most  marked 
.'stroy. 
tunnel  nearly 
lot  he    luttcr; 
idds  so   much 
[lossihly  iiave 
darkness  tiic 
ft)re    the   trav- 
f)u^h    it   lldv.s 
y  deprived  of 
ry  through  so 
in   asjiect,  as 
it    is   like  a 


iz 


Efl 


.1  ( 


f     it 


1 80 


P/C TURJiSO LIE    AMERICA. 


f       ■; 

«    I" 


:i 


Near  the  head  of  Echo  Canon  stands  Ciistle  l^ock,  one  of  the  noblest  of  the  ^icat 
natural  landmarks  that  are  ])assed  in  all  the  route — a  vast  and  raj^ged  |)ile  of  massive 
stone,  fantastically  cut,  hy  all  those  mighty  forces  that  toil  throuffh  the  centuries,  into  iIk' 
very  semblance  of  a  mountain-fortress.  A  cavernous  o])ening  simulates  a  giant  door  df 
entrance  between  its  rounded  and  overhanging  towers;  the  jagged  points  above  are  like 
the  ruins  of  battlements  left  bristling  and  torn  after  combats  of  Titans;  the  huge  la\cis 
of  its  worn  sides  sreii.  to  have  been  builded  by  skilful  hands ;  and  the  great  rouiidid 
foundations,  from  which  the  sandy  soil  has  been  swei)t  away,  would  appear  rooted  in  the 
very  central  earth.  It  surmounts  a  lofty,  steep-sided  eminence,  and  frowns  down  with  an 
awesome  strength  and  (piiet  on  the  lonely  valley  below  it. 

It  is  a  great  ruin  of  Nature,  not  of  human  structure;  and  its  grandeur  is  diflVrent 
in  kind  and  in  degree  from  those  other  relics  in  an  older  world,  wherewith  human  his- 
tory is  associated  in  every  mind,  which  hold  for  us  everywhere  the  memories  of  huiiian 
toil  and  action.  It  is  a  strangely  different  feeling  that  this  grand  pile,  made  witli  no 
man's  hands,  gives  us  as  we  look  up  at  it.  It  has  stood  alone  longer  than  whole  races 
have  been  in  the  world.  Its  lines  were  shajied  with  no  thought,  it  seems,  of  those  that 
were  to  see  them ;  the  purposeless  wind  and  sand  and  rain  have  been  busy  at  it  for 
vast  cvclcs  of  tiine,  anil  at  the  end  it  is  a  thing  of  art — a  great  lesson  of  rude  aichi- 
tecture. 

Beyond  it  the  road  enters  the  Echo  Cafion  itself.  It  is  a  narrow  gorge  between 
rocky  walls  that  tower  hundreds  of  feet  abo\r  its  uneven  floor,  along  which  the  river 
runs  with  a  stream  as  bright  and  ckcU  as  at  its  very  source.  Not  simply  a  straight  cnt 
between  its  |)reci|)ices  of  rcd-and-dark-stained  stone,  but  a  winding  valley,  with  every 
turn  presenting  some  new  variation  oi  its  wonderful  scenery.  On  the  mountains  that 
form  its  sides  there  !.;  litt'.e  verdure — only  a  dwarfed  growth  of  pine  .scattered  here  niid 
there,  leaving  the  steeper  portions  of  the  rock  bare  and  ragged  in  outline.  Now  and 
then  there  are  little  openings,  where  the  great  walls  spread  apart  and  little  glades  are 
formed ;   but  these  are  no  less  picturestjue  than  the  wilder  jiassages. 

There  are  niem(;;;i'le  places  here.  Malf-way  down  the  gorge  is  Hanging  Rock, 
where  Hrighani  Vijuni;  sjioke  to  his  dehided  hundreds  after  their  long  j)ilgrimage,  and 
l)ointed  out  to  them  that  they  a])]iroached  their  Canaan — ]ii cached  the  Mormons'  first 
sermon  in  the  "  Promised  Land."  Eull  of  all  that  is  wild  and  strange,  as  is  this  rocky 
valley,  seen  even  from  the  ])rosaic  window  of  a  whirling  railway-car,  what  must  it  liavc 
been  with  the  multitude  of  fanatics,  stranger  than  all  its  strangeness,  standing  on  its 
varied  floor  and  looking  uj)  at  the  speaking  j)ro])het,  whom  they  half  believed,  iiall' 
feared  }  The  weary  multitude  of  half-excited,  half-stolid  faces  turned  toward  the  preacher; 
the  coarse,  strong,  wild  words  of  the  leader  echoing  from  the  long-silent  rocks — why  has 
no  one  ever  pictured  for  us  all  of  the  scene  that  could  be  pictured? 

A  relic  of  the  early  Mormon  days,  but  not  a  proud  one,  is   some   miles   away  from 


it  of  the  fjnat 
ilc  of  massive 
turies,  into  tlit 
giant  door  (if 
above  arc  lilcc 
he  liugc    layers 

frrcat    rounded 
r  rooted  in  the 

down  witli  an 

cur  is  diffeient 
ith  liuman  liis- 
ories  of  liunian 
,  made  with  no 
lan  whole  races 
s,  of  those  that 
husv  at  it  for 
I    of   rude   areiii- 

'  gorge    between 

which    the    river 

V  a  straight   cut 

cy,    with    every 

mountains  that 

itlercd   here   and 

tline.     Now  and 

ittle    glades  are 

Hanging    Rock, 

pilgrimage,  and 

Mormons'  first 

as   is   this   rocky 

lat  must    it   have 

standing   on   its 

rlf   believed,  half 

ard  the  preacher; 

ocks— why  lia^ 

miles   away  from 


/K'  mi 


I  !r 


•  I 


MONUMENT  ROCK,  ECHO  CaSoN 


I 


•'  1 


IrM 


182 


PICTdRESQUE    AMERICA. 


this,  high  on  the  rocks ;  an  unnoticeable  ruin  of  the  little  fortifications  once  for  a  very 
short  time  occiii)ied  by  the  United  States  troojxs,  in  the  presidency  of  Buchanan,  when 
a  trifling  detachment  of  soldiers  made  a  perfectly  vain  and  indecisive  show  of  interfering 
with  the  rule  of  the  rebellious  saints.  The  ruin  is  hardly  more  important  than  the 
attempt ;  yet  it  deserves  mention,  if  only  as  commemorative  of  an  episode  that  the 
future  historian,  if  he  notes  it  at  all,  will  connect  with  this  rocky  region  of  hard  marches 
and  ill-fated  emigrants. 

Tlie  canon  is  not  long ;  the  train  dashes  through  it  at  sharj)  pace ;  and  suddenly, 
without  passing  any  point  of  view  that  gives  the  traveller  a  warning  glance  ahead,  it 
turns  and  dashes  out  into  the  l)eautiful  and  broad  valley  beyond,  halting  at  Echo  City- 
most  picturesque  and  bright  of  little  villages,  destined,  perhaps,  to  realize  its  ambitious 
name  some  time  in  the  remotest  future. 

The  scene  here  is — as  has  i)een  said  in  advance — a  really  pastoral  one.  The  broad 
plain,  left  by  the  encircling  mountains,  is  green  and  fresii ;  the  river  winds  through  its 
grassy  expanse  in  i)leasant  tpiiet,  without  brawl  or  rush;  the  trees  are  like  those  in  i 
familiar  I'^lastern  country-side.  Only  the  great  outlines  of  the  surrounding  hills,  and  iKio 
and  there  the  appearance  on  the  horizon  of  some  sharper,  higher,  more  distant  peaks, 
show  the  traveller  his  whereabouts,  and  take  his  mind  from  the  quieter  aspect  of  what 
lies  about  him.  Near  by,  in  valleys  leading  into  this,  are  various  Mormon  settlements; 
for  we  arc  already  in  the  country  of  the  saints. 

But  the  grandest  gorge  is  still  to  come;  and  the  road  enters  it  almost  at  once  after 
crossing  the  little  plain.  It  is  Weber  Cailon — the  greatest  of  these  Utah  ravines,  lis 
immense  walls  are  grander  by  lar  than  those  of  I'Lcho  ;  the  forms  of  their  tagged  edges 
and  the  carvings  of  their  surfaces  are  more  fantastic;  and  the  deep,  dark  aspect  of  the 
whole  narrow  valle\-  gives  in  every  way  a  nobler  scene.  It  should  be  viewed  on  a 
cloudy,  gloomy  dav,  to  realize  its  whole  look  of  wild  grandeur.  The  little  river  brawls 
at  the  left  of  the  track;  the  thunder  of  the  locomotive  echoes  from  the  high  precipices 
at  its  sides;  the  rush  of  the  train's  onward  motion  adds  a  certain  additional  wildness  to 
the  shadowy  place. 

The  old  emigrant-road  passes  througli  the  cafion,  like  the  railway.  It  crosses  and 
recrosses  the  river,  and  winds  among  the  trees  along  the  banks,  sometimes  lost  to  \  ie>v 
from  the  train.  Little  frequented  as  it  is  in  these  days,  the  writer  has  seen,  within  1 
very  '(('W  years,  a  "prairie  sch(Joner"  of  the  olil  historic  form  passing  along  it;  a  roujfh, 
strong  emigrant  riding  beside  it;  children's  faces  looking  out  between  the  folds  of  the 
cloth  covering;  and  household  goods  dimly  discernible  within.  i\nd  at  one  of  the  rivir- 
crossings  is  a  mark  that  must  often  have  given  renewed  hope  or  pain  to  many  a  one 
among  this  family's  predecessors — the  famous  old  "Thousand-Mile  Tree,"  that  sti  ils  at 
just  that  weary  ilislance  from  (Jmaha,  even  farther  from  the  great  city  liy  the  Golden 
Gate. 


:  for  a  verv 
hanan,  wlini 
if  interferiiiji; 
nt  than  the 
ido  that  tlu' 
lard  inarchLS 

nd    suddcnl), 
ICC    ahead,  it 
Echo  City- 
its   ambitious 

The  broad 
;  tiirough  its 
.'  those  in  i 
ills,  and  hen 
listant  peaks, 
pcct  of  what 
settlements; 

at  once  after 

ravines.     Its 

injrjTcd   edjres 

ispect    ol    the 

ewed    on   a 

river    brawls 

gh    precipices 

wildness  to 

crosses   antl 
lost    to  \  ie>v 
•en,  within    i 
it  ;   a  roiiiih, 
folds  of  till' 
of  the  river- 
many  n   oiu' 
i.ii    sti  .ds  at 
I  lie    Golden 


VI 


CEVIL'S    OATB,    WKaSR    (JAAoN. 


■smg 


BffP 


184 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


ti  : 

.:     i   ••I 


I|!1J! 


Whoever  follows  the  nomenclature  of  Weiier  Canon  would  be  led  to  think  the 
enemy  of  mankind  lield  there  at  least  undisputed  sway.  All  the  great  glories  (if  the 
view  arc  marked  as  his.     The  Devil's  Gate — a  i)lack,  ragged  opening  in  one  part   of  the 

great  gorge,  through  which  the 
foaming  waters  of  the  river 
rush  white  and  noisy — is  one, 
hut  it  is  well  named.  A  very 
spirit  of  darkness  seems  to 
brood  o\er  the  place.  On  eacli 
side,  the  broken  cliffs  lie  in 
shadow ;  the  thundering  water 
roars  below  ;  there  is  no  ver- 
dure but  a  blasted  tree  here 
and  there ;  great  bowlders  lie 
in  the  bed  of  the  stream  and 
alon^-  the  Iiore.  In  the  dis- 
tance sc'  ^  i.jrough  the  gaj), 
there  are  black  hills  and  moun- 
tain-summits overlooking  thnn, 
And  there  is  a  cool  wind 
here,  that  is  like  a  breeze 
blown  across  the  Styx,  and 
that  is  never  still,  even  in  the 
hottest  summer  day. 

It  is  worth  the  while  to 
think,  in  this  wonderful  valley, 
of  the  engineering  skill  (hat 
was  n'-edtnl  to  Cif  '.!'•'  iion 
road    through    if     J     ■  All 

(hrouiih  the  eafion  '  evi- 
dences of  tlu  <lil1icullies  of 
llic  (asl  Mere  a  lruss-i)ri(iu;i' 
an<l  web-like  trestle-work  ciiry 
the  rails  from  one  point  of 
the  rocky  wall  10  another  lie- 
yond  the  stream ;  here,  for  a  great  space,  the  road-bed  is  cut  from  the  verv  sides  of 
the  great  cliffs,  where  the  gorye  n-rrows  and  leaves  no  nxtm  for  more  than  sand  and 
river.  And,  as  if  to  moek  at  it  all.  Nature  has  tried  her  hand,  too,  stt  construct  ion, 
with    a    success  at   nncr  wiird.  sublimt     ,uid    giutes(|ue.      On  'he  left    hand   of   the  roiilo. 


Dtvlt'i  Sliilf,   Wclicr  <  .>n»n. 


Hill 


to   think   tlic 
[lories   of  the 
5  part   of  the 
gh  which  tlie 
of    the     river 
noisy — is  one, 
mcd.     A  veiy 
ss     seems    to 
ace.     On  each 
cliffs    lie    in 
ipdering  water 
re    is   no   ver- 
ted   tree    here 
t    bowlders  lie 
le    stream    and 
In    the    (iis- 
iii^h    the    ^ap, 
lills  and  moiin- 
rlookinp  thiiii. 
a    cool     wind 
ike     a     bree/e 
he     Styx,  and 
,  even  in  ihe 
ly. 

tiie    while    t(i 
iderful  valley, 
nji    4.  ill     lii.il 
■l>i'    iiiin 
.:     .    ..     All 
on       •      I'vi- 
liiliculties    of 
a  truss-liriiltfc 
tic-work  carry 
line    point    of 
■   another   he- 
very    sides  of 
tlnin  sand  ;iiul 
I  construe!  II  111. 
i>f    the  KHiK'. 


^<ii  11 


fi 


IMHI«H 


m  i  m 


1 86 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


! 


i¥±itf 


on  the  steep  front  of  the  rocky 
cliff,  a])pears  at  one  point  the  \trv 
niockcry  of  human  work — the  sin- 
gular formation  called  "The  Di\il's 
Slide " — by  that  same  rule  of  no- 
menclature that  \vc  have  mentioned 
once  before.  Two  parallel  walls  o!" 
stone,  extendinji-  from  summit  \u 
base  of  the  precipice,  and  cmios- 
ing  between  them  a  road  -  wav, 
regular  and  unobstructed.  An  edi- 
tor, whom  your  guitle-books  will 
be  sure  to  (piote,  has  written  a 
good,  though  somewhat  too  statis- 
tical, description  of  this  singular 
place ;  we  have  found  it  in  a  will- 
used  route-book,  and  quote  it,  in 
default  of  words  that  could  say 
more : 

"  Imagine,"  the  writer  says,  "a 
mountain  eight  hundreil  feet  liiirli, 
composed  of  solid,  dark-red  sand- 
stone, with  a  smooth  and  uiad- 
uallv  ascending  surface  to  its  vcn 
|)innacle,  and  oidy  eight  or  tni 
degrees  from  being  ])erpendicular. 
At  the  fool  of  this  mounti.in  thr 
Wflit'i  i'Jixei  winds  its  dcvidu- 
course.  I'rom  the  base  id  tin 
immense  red  mountain,  up  il^  tn- 
tiie  height  of  eight  hundnd  Idi 
is  wiiat  is  called  '  'ihe  I  )v\\\- 
Slide,'  c;>mp:)sed  of  white  iiim- 
stone.  ll  consists  of  a  suuhiiIi 
whili-  stone  tloor  from  base  !" 
sunnnil,  about  fifteen  f«'et  wiilc  .i'> 
.straight  and  n-giilar  as  if  lai'l  In 
a  stone-mason  with  line  and  |duni- 
met.       <  )n      either     side     of     tlii> 


H 


I!'  ! 


THE    PLAINS    AND    THE    SIERRAS. 


187 


of  the  rocky 
point  the  \oiy 
work — the  ^in- 
;(1  "  The  Devil's 
lie  rule  of  no- 
have  mentinned 
parallel  walls  of 
om  summit  to 
lice,  and  enclos- 
1  a  road -way, 
rueled.  An  cdi- 
ruide-Uooks  will 
,  has  written  a 
nvhat  too  statis- 
of  this  siiitiiilar 
und  it  in  a  well- 
and  quote  it,  in 
that    could    say 

le  writer  says,  "a 
imdred  feet  tii,«li, 
id,  dark-red  sanii- 
iioolh  and  irraii- 
ivfaee  to  its  vm 
\  liiilit  or  ten 
nji  perpendicular, 
lis  ni<'Vinl..in  llu 
nds  its  dtvioib 
le  base  nf  liu 
intaiit,  111'  i'''  ^'^■ 

n|||      IllMKlHil    If'l 

,1  'ihe  Dcvil'^ 
,r  white  linii- 
sts  nf  a  ^llionlh 
n  from  Ium'  t'l 
teen   feel   widi',  av 

,ir  as  if  laid  In 
th  line  and  |'lum- 

1      side      of     dm 


smooth,  white  line  is  what  ajipears  to  tiic  eve  to  be  a  well-laid  white  stone-wall,  varying 
in  height  from  ten  to  twenty  feet.  This  white  spectacle  on  the  red  mountain-side  has 
all  the  appearance  of  being  made  by  man  or  devil  as  a  slide  from  the  top  t)f  the 
mountain  to  the  bed  of  Weber  P-iver." 

This  odd  freak  of  Nature  has  nothing  sublime  about  it ;  the  whole  idea  that  it 
conveys  is  that  of  singularity ;    but  it  is  strangely  picturesque  and  striking. 

And  now  we  are  nearing  the  very  centre  of  Mormondom  ;  for  only  a  little  beyond 
the  Devil's  Gate,  which,  though  first  named,  is  farther  toward  the  western  extremity  of 
the  canon  than  the  "  Slide,"  we  come  to  Uintah  Station,  glance  at  the  Salt-Lake  Valley, 
and  are  hurried  on  to  Ogden,  whence  the  trains  go  out  to  the  Cjty  of  the  Saints  itself. 
Ogtlen  lies  in  the   great    jjlain    of  the  valley,  but    from    the    low   railway-station   you   see 


riain.«   '>r  ihc    lluniluilill. 

in  the  distance  long  ranges  of  mountains,  more  |)ictures(iue  than  almost  any  distant  view 
vou  havi'  had  thus  far;  and  all  about  the  town  art-  green  lields — yes,  posili\il\-  kiieed- 
otf  lields     and  bevond  ihem  Ihe  prairie;    but   here   .10   longer  without   trees. 

Whoever  will  may  leavi-  this  station — a  great  eenfial  point  of  the  line,  for  here 
the  I'nioii  and  the  Cenlial  n)ads  meet  and  cause  llie  drearv  business  o|  chaniiing  ens 
and,  adding  a  day  or  two  to  his  journey,  m  iv  lake  Ihe  sonorouslv-nained  I  tali  Cen- 
II  il  Railway — as  if,  indeed,  the  'IVrritorv  boasted  a  net-work  of  iron  ri>ads  and  joinney 
down  to  Salt-Lake  City  to  see  the  eiirioiis  eivilixatioii  he  will  lind  ihcie.  "Il  lies  in  a 
^ic.ii  valley."  says  the  statistical  and  aeemale  description  of  this  eitv  of  the  Mormons — 
a  description  which  ve  prefer  lo  partly  set  down  here  raUur  than  to  lun  risks  of  error 
bv  trusting  our  own  memory  for    any  thing  more  than  iiicUires(|ue   aspects  -"  it   lies  in  a 


•^yxKoafOtammft 


i  'Uf 


■»-;■ 


,'i 


nr 


i»ii 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


great  \  .Ilcy,  extending  close  up  to  the  base  of  tlie  Wasatch  Mountains  on  the  nonh, 
with  an  exixuisive  view  to  the  south  of  more  tlian  one  hundred  miles  of  plains,  bcydiid 
which,  in  tiie  distance,  rise,  clear  cut  and  grand  in  the  extreme,  the  gray,  jagged,  ami 
rugged  mountains,  whose  peaks  are  covered  with  peqietuai  snow."  (Oh,  unhappy  writer 
in  statistical  guide-books!  How  much  more  "grand  in  the  extreme"  is  that  view  in  its 
bright  reality  than  any  words  of  yours  or  mine  can  show  to  those  who  have  not  seen  it ! 
Let  us  keej)  to  our  statistics.)  "Adjoining  the  city  is  a  fine  agricultural  and  mining 
region,  wiiich  has  a  large  and  growing  trade.  The  climate  of  the  valley  is  healthful,  mid 
the  soil,  wiiere  it  can  be  irr'  ,ated,  is  extremely  fertile.  .  .  .  The  city  covers  an  area  of 
about  nine  miles,  or  tiiree  miles  each  way,  and  is  handsomely  laid  out.  The  streets  are 
very  wide,  witii  irrigating  ditches  passing  through  all  of  them,  keeping  the  shade-tnes 
and  orchards  looking  beautiful.  livery  block  is  surrounded  with  shade-trees,  and  nearly 
every  house  has  its  neat  little  orchard  of  ap])le,  peach,  apriv.ot,  plum,  and  cherry  trees. 
Fruii  i.s  very  abundant,  and  the  almond,  the  catalpa,  and  the  cotton-wood-tree,  grow  side 
by  side  with  the  maple,  the  willow,  and  the  locust.  In  fact,  the  whole  nine  square  miles 
is  almost  one  continuous  garden." 

So  it  will  be  seen  that  even  a  city  on  the  Plains  has  elements  that  entitle  it  to  a 
place  in  this  record  of  the  picturesque,  and  that  it  is  not  as  t)ther  cities  are.  But  Mr. 
Charles  Xordhoff  tells  us,  in  his  "  California,"  that  "  Salt  Lake  need  not  hold  anv  iiuic 
pleasure-traveller  more  than  a  day.  Vou  can  dri\e  all  over  it  in  two  iiours ;  and  when 
you  have  seen  the  Tabernacle — an  admit  ably-arranged  and  very  ugly  building — which 
contains  an  organ,  built  in  Salt  Lake  by  an  b-nglish  workman,  a  Mormon,  nanial 
Ridges,  which  organ  is  second  in  size  only  to  the  Boston  organ,  and  far  sweeter  in  tune 
than  the  one  of  Plymouth  Church ;  the  menagerie  of  Brigham  Young's  enclosure,  which 
contains  several  bears,  some  lynxes  and  wild-cats— natives  of  these  mountains — anil  a 
small  but  interesting  collection  of  minerals  and  Indian  remains,  and  of  the  manufactures 
of  the  Mormons;  the  Temple  Block;  and  enjoyed  the  magnificent  view  from  the  back 
of  the  city  of  the  valley  and  the  snow-caiij)ed  peaks  which  lie  on  the  other  side— a 
view  which  you  carry  with  you  all  over  the  |)lace — you  have  done  Salt-Lake  City,  and 
have  time,  if  you  have  risen  early,  to  bathe  at  the  sulphur  spring.  The  lake  lies  too  far 
away  to  be  visited   in  one  dav." 

But,  in  s|)ite  of  its  distance,  the  great  inland  sea  should  certainly  be  seen.  It  is  a 
remarkable  sight  from  anv  |)oint  of  view,  and  as  vou  come  suddenly  upon  it,  after  tiu' 
long  days  of  tiavel,  in  which  vou  have  seen  only  rivers  and  scanty  brooks,  it  seems 
almost  maivellous.  A  great  expanse  of  spaikling  water  in  the  sunshine,  or  a  dark  waste 
that  looks  like  the  ocean  itself  when  \  ou  si-e  it  under  a  cloudv  skv,  it  is  an  outlook  nut 
to  be  forgotten  in  many  a  day. 

Here,  l)efore  »ve  leave  the  Salt-Lake  region,  we  must  say  a  word  to  correct  <ine 
very  false  idea  concerning  it — that  which  obtains  concerning  its  great  fertility  and  natural 


>n    the    noiih, 
)lains,  bcydiul 
',  ja^rgcd,  and 
iihappy  wiikT 
at  view  in  its 
.'    not  seen  it ! 
1    and    miniiii; 
healthful,  ami 
•s   an   area  of 
he   streets  are 
he   shade-trees 
es,  and    ncariv 
\   cherry  trees. 
:rce,  ^row  sitle 
e  square  miles 

entitle   it   to  a 

are.     But    Mi. 

hold    any  mere 

iirs ;   and  wiien 

uildinj? — wliieii 

rmon,    named 

wceter  in  tone 

closure,  wliieli 

mains — and  a 

manufactures 

om   the    baek 

other   side— a 

ake    City,  and 

ke  lies  too  far 

Mcn.  it  i'^  a 
II  it,  after  the 
loks,  it  sernis 
a  dark  waste 
1  outlook  luit 

correct    >  iiie 
IV  and  natural 


HAUISAUE    CARoN. 


190 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA.. 


weaUli  of  soil.  This  point  is  referred  to  in  Mr.  Nordhoff's  book,  and,  so  fiir  as  we 
know,  almost  for  the  first  time  correctly  ;  but  we  have  never  passed  through  Utah  hy 
the  railway,  or  [)assed  a  day  in  this  portion  of  the  country,  without  greatly  wonderinji  why 
the  common,  unfounded  theory  had  kept  its  place  so  long.  It  is  popularly  supposed  that 
the  Mormons  have  settled  in  a  very  garden  of  the  earth,  and  that  their  Canaan  was  by 
no  means  all  visionary ;  and  there  are  not  a  few  good  people  who  have  agitated  thim- 
selves  because  these  heathen  had  possession  of  one  of  the  noblest  parts  of  the  American 
territory. 

This  is  all  entirely  wrong.  The  region  is  really,  by  Nature,  an  arid  desert,  made 
UJ1  of  veritable  "Terres  Mauvaises,"  though  not  such  picturesque  ones  as  lie,  dolled 
with  monumental  rocks,  but  a  little  distance  from  the  lake.  The  Mormons  can 
truly  boast  that  they  have  made  their  land  "blossom  like  the  rose;"  but  onl\'  by 
the  greatest  toil  and  care,  and  by  an  expenditure  of  wealth  utterly  disproportionate  to 
its  results.  "Considering  what  an  immense  quantity  of  good  land  there  is  in  these 
United  States,"  says  Mr.  Nordhoff,  "I  should  say  that  Brighain  Young  made  what  thev 
call  in  the  West  'a  mighty^ioor  land  speculation'  for  his  people.  'If  we  should  slop 
irrigation  for  ninety  days,  not  a  tree,  shrub,  or  vine,  would  remain  alive  in  our  count  rv,' 
said  a  Mormon  to  me,  as  I  walked  through  his  garden.  '  Not  a  tree  grew  in  our  jjlains 
when  we  came  here,  and  we  had,  and  have,  to  haul  our  wood  and  tiniber  fourteen  to 
twenty  miles  out  of  the  mountains,'  said  another.  The  soil,  though  good,  is  full  of 
stones  ;  and  I  sa\  a  terraced  garden  of  about  three  acres,  built  up  against  the  hill-side, 
which  must  have  cost  ten  or  twelve  thousand  dollars  to  prepare.  That  is  to  say.  Young 
marched  his  people  a  thousand  miles  through  a  desert  to  settle  them  in  a  valley  wliere 
almost  every  acre  must  have  cost  them,  in  labor  and  money  to  get  it  ready  for  agricult- 
ural use,  I  should  sav  not  less  than  one  hundred  dollars.  An  Illinois,  or  Iowa,  or  Mis- 
souri, or  Minnesota  farmer,  who  paid  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  an  acre  for  his  land  in  those 
days,  got  a  better  farm,  ready-made  to  his  hand,  than  these  ])eoj)le  got  from  IJrigliani, 
their  leader,  only  after  the  experience  of  unlold  hardships  (which  we  will  not  now  count 
in),  and  of  at  least  one  hundrPd  dollars'  worth  of  labor  per  acre  when  they  reached  llieir 
destination."  It  will  some  time  be  more  widely  a|)prcciated  how  completely  the  whole 
pleasant  jjastoral  scenery  here  is  the  woik  of  men's  hands;  for  the  present,  the  passage 
just  (juoled  is  so  true  that   it  shall  serve  as  the  only  reference  here  to  the  subject. 

West  from  Ogckn  lies  the  second  great  reach  of  the  long  overland  journey.  Sah- 
Lake  City,  an  oasis  of  humanitv,  if  not  of  a  very  high  order  of  civilization,  serves  to 
inark  llu-  half-way  i)<)mt  in  the  modern  crossing  of  the  Plains.  The  railwiys  meet  at 
Ogden  Station,  and  the  continued  journey  toward  the  western  coast  is  made  on  '  ihe 
Central,"  as  the  affectionate  abbreviation  of  the  railway-men  calls  the  latter  half  of  the 
great  iron  road.  It  passes  westward  through  Corinne,  a  station  wh>ch  derives  its  life  .uul 
prosperity  chiefly  from  its  communication  with  the   V\:\\\  silver-mines,  and  reaches    Pioni- 


THE    PLAINS    AND     THE    SIERRAS. 


191 


imtoiy  —  properly,    it    seems, 
c;ilk'(l     "  Promontory     Point," 
whicii   ap|)ears  a  strange   bit    of  tautology. 
Here  is  a  noteworthy  jilace,  and  one  wiiieh 
ail  historians  of  the    future   ought  to  ccle- 
l)nUe,   eaeh    after    his    manner.      Close    by 
the   station,  whieh    the    road    reaches  after  skirting  the  shore 
i)f  the   great    Salt    Lake  for  a  little  time,  and  then  suddenly 
curving  awav,  the  great  iron    line,  ])ushe<l  westward  from  the 
tast,  met  and  joined  that  which  for  many  months  had  grown 
slowlv  toward   it    from    the  west — the    last    links    of  the    iron 
(hain    weie    riveted.      There   were  jubilant    ceremonies    when 

tlic  great  day  of  ending  the  road  came  at  last,  on  flu'  loth  of  May,  1869.  A  rose- 
wood "tie"  joined  the  last  rails;  and  solemnlv,  in  the  presence  of  a  silent  asseinbly, 
a  golden  spike  was  driven  with  silver  hammer — the  last  of  the  th(jusands  on  thousands 
of  fastenings  that  held  together  the  mightiest  work  made  for  the  sake  of  human  com- 
nuniieation  and  intercourse  in  all  the  world.  'I"he  engines  met  from  the  east  and  west, 
as  Bret  Hartc  told  us — 

"  Pilots  touchin); — head  to  head 
Facing  on  the  sin>;lc  trark, 
Half  a  world  behind  each  back  " — 


% 


I  *\ 


3f  ■-     '   *T! 


193 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


and    there  was  a  p^irdle  round    the   earth    such    as   the    men   of  a  century  before  had  not 
dared  even  to  dream  of. 

Heyond  the  memorable  Promontory  comes  a  dreary  waste — the  dreariest  that  lias 
yet  l)een  passed,  and  perhaps  the  most  utterly  desolate  of  all  the  journey.  Nothing  lives 
here  but  the  hopelessly  wretched  sage-brush,  and  a  tribe  of  little  basking  lizards;  yes, 
one  thing  more — the  kind  of  gaunt,  lank  animals  called  "jackass-rabbits,"  that  eat  no 
one  knows  \<h\t  on  this  arid  plain.  The  horizon  is  bordered  by  bare,  burned  mountains; 
the  grounil  is  a  waste  of  sand  and  salt ;  the  air  is  a  whirl  of  alkali-dust.  Kelton,  ;ind 
Matlin,  and  Toano,  dreariest  of  Nevada  stations  !  Could  any  man  wish  his  direst  enemy 
a  more  bitter  fate  than  to  be  kept  here  in  the  midst  of  this  scene  for  a  decade? 

There  is  some  mineral  wealth,  farther  on,  hidden  near  the  route  of  the  railway  ;  Imt, 
apart  from  this,  there  would  seem  to  be  nothing  useful  to  man  obtainable  from  all  thir 
region.  We  dash  across  the  sterile  space  in  a  few  hours,  but  imagine  for  a  moment  the 
drearv  time  for  the  old  emigrant-trains,  which  came  on  to  these  gusty,  dusty  levels  in 
old  davs,  and  found  neither  grass,  nor  water,  nor  foliage,  until  they  came  to  Humboldt 
Wells,  blessed  of  many  travellers,  lying  close  together  within  a  few  hundred  yards  uf  the 
present  road,  and  surrounded  with  tall,  deep-green  herbage.  There  are  nearly  a  score  of 
these  grateful  springs  scattered  about  in  a  small  area ;  and  they  are  of  very  great  dei)th, 
with  cool,  fresh,  limpid  water. 

They  herald  the  approach  of  another  and  a  different  district,  for  now  we  soon  come 
to  the  Humboldt  River  itself,  and  for  a  time  have  all  the  benefit  of  the  growth  of  trees 
along  its  sides,  and  the  fertility  that  its  waters  revive  along  its  course.  The  soil  here  is 
realh-  arable ;  but  go  a  little  distance  away  from  the  river,  and  the  few  water-pools  ;iie 
alkaline,  and  the  land  resumes  the  features  (jf  the  desert-soil.  The  scenery  here,  in  tiie 
upjter  part  of  the  Humboldt  Valley,  is  for  a  time  varied,  and  in  many  places  even  wild 
and  grand.  The  road  winds  through  iiicturescjue  canons,  :nd  under  the  shadow  of  the 
northernmost  mountains  of  the  Humboldt  Range,  until  the  important  station  of  Klko  is 
reached.  This  is  a  noteworthy  sup])ly-station  for  all  the  country  around  it,  in  which  arc 
numerous  mining  settlements.  The  town  is  a  place  of  great  import  to  all  the  giiiiie- 
books  of  this  region.  It  has  a  po])ulation  of  more  than  five  thousand,  as  we  learn  from 
one  account  of  it  ;  and  there  are  a  hundred  and  fifty  shops  of  various  kinds,  great 
freight-houses,  an  hotel,  two  banks,  two  news|)aj)ers,  a  school,  and  a  court-house.  Truly  a 
most  |)romising  jirairie-town  is  this,  to  have  grown  up  in  three  hurried  years,  and  to 
llourish  on  the  borders  of  a  desert ! 

l"(ir  now  we  have  a  little  more  of  sage-brush  and  alkali,  ant-hills,  and  sand.  Let 
liim  'vho  passes  over  the  Humboldt  Plains  cm  a  hot  August  day,  and  feels  the  llviiiir 
white  dust  burning  and  i)arching  eyes  and  mouth  and  throat,  making  gritty  un])leas- 
antness  in  the  water  wherev.-ith  he  tries  to  wash  it  away,  and  finding  lodgment  in 
every  fold  of  his  clothing,  be  suiliciently  thankful  that  he  is  not  plodding  on  with  j.uki 


4i 


THE    PLAINS    AND     TIIH    SfERRAS. 


193 


efore  had  not 

iest  that  has 
Nothing  lives 
;   lizards;   yes, 

that   eat   no 

ed  mountains; 

Kclton,  and 

;  tlirest  enemy 

ccade  ? 

;  railway  ;  1  mt, 
L-  from  all  tirlr 
a  moment  the 
lusty  levels  in 

to  Humhuldt 
:d  yards  ot  the 
irly  a  score  of 
ry  great  depth, 

we  soon  eonie 
rrowth  of  trees 
'he  soil  here  is 
ivater-pools   arc 
here,  in   the 
ices  even  wild 
hadow  of  the 
n  of   I"llko  is 
in  which  arc 
all  the  giiidc- 
we  learn  lioni 
s    kinds,   iiieat 
)use.     Trulv  a 
vears,  and  to 


rv 


lor 


i( 


ml    sand,      l-ct 

x'ls   the    tl\iiV 

gritty   unpleas- 

lodgnienl    in 

on  with  jaded 


hill 


a 


wairoii,  w'illi  davs  of 
siniihu  jdiirneying  be- 
hind him,  and  some 
of  it   ''till  to  come. 

lunigrant    or    ])assenger    by    lu.xu- 
rioiis    Pullman    car,  he  will    be   glad  to 
i;<iine    near   to    the    refreshing  grandeur 
(if  scenery  of  tlie   Palisades — though    the    fmest  of 
this    is   not    seen    without    leaving    the    established 
route,  and  i)enetrating  a  little    into    the   mountains 
at  one  side.     It  is  here  that  you    come  upon  such 
glimpses   and    vistas    as    the    one    M,.    Moran    has 
drawn  —breaks    in    the    rocky    wall,  through    which 
one    looks   out  on  really  perfect  mountain-pictures. 
Iluie  are  hot  springs  here;   and   in  one  vallev  a  host  of  them  sends  u|>  per|)etual  steam, 
ol   sulphurous  odor,  and  the  ground  is  tinged  with   mineral   colors,  as    at    the    geysers    of 

QA 


I   , 


bi' 


m 


1  ■■  f 


1 


1 94 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA, 


California.  All  around  us,  too,  are  mining  districts,  some  of  them  old  and  cxiiausicd 
some  still  nourishing.  To  the  pioneers  they  all  h;;.e  association  with  "lively  tinus;" 
the  veterans  talk  of  "the  Austin  excitement,"  and  the  famous  "Washoe  time" — periods 
which  seem  like  a  distant  aj^e  to  us. 

'Ihe  railway  and  the  emigrant-road  have  long  followed  the  course  of  the  Ilunilir)l(|| 
River,  hut  this  is  not  always  in  sight  after  Battle  Mountain — named  from  an  old  linliaii 
combat — is  jiassed  ;  and  tinally  it  is  lost  to  view  altogether,  and  the  road  runs  1)\  tin 
fresh,  bright-looking  little  station  of  Humboldt  itself;  |)ast  Golconda,  and  Winnenuicc;i 
and  Lovelock's,  and  Brown's — names  that  have  histories;  and  finally  Wadswortli  \< 
reached,  cheerfully  hailed  as  the  beginning  of  the  •"  Sacramento  division,"  a  title  that 
reavis  aheadv  like  the  California  names.  And  here  the  Plains  are  done — the  Sierras  fiirh 
begin. 

The  monotony  of  the  view  begins  to  change ;  the  mountains  slope  about  us,  ;is  wc 
enter  the  well-named  Pleasant  X'alley,  through  which  Truckee  River  flows,  and  at  last, 
passing  through  well-wooded  land  again,  reach  Truckee  itself,  a  little  city  in  the  wilderness, 
standing  among  the  very  main  ridges  of  the  Sierra  chain.  The  town — the  first  of  the 
stations  within  the  actual  limits  of  California — is  a  picturesque,  bright  place  of  six  thou- 
sand inhabitants — a  place  that  has  had  its  "great  fire,"  its  revival,  its  riots,  and  adven- 
tures, not  a  whit  l)ehintl  those  of  the  larger  mining  town«  farther  toward  the  interior 
of  I  lie  State. 

Along  the  rocky  shores  of  its  river  lie  the  noblest  s.  ..^ ,  the  tall  cliffs  are  ragged 
and  bare,  but  ]iine-tree-crowned  ;  the  rock-broken  water  ripjiles  and  thunders  through 
gorges  and  little  stretches  of  fertile  plain  ;  and  the  buzzing  saw-mills  of  an  inci|)icnt 
civilization  hum  with  a  homelike,  New-luigland  sound  on  its  banks.  From  the  town 
itself,  stages — the  stages  of  luxury  and  civilization,  too — carry  the  traveller  to  the  laauti- 
ful  and  now  well-known  Donner  Lake,  only  two  or  three  miles  away.  The  great  sheet 
of  clear  and  beautiful  water  lies  high  u|)  in  the  mountains,  between  steeji  sides,  and  in 
the  midst  of  tiie  wildest  and  most  pictures([ue  of  the  scenery  of  the  Sierra  summits. 
The  de|)th  of  the  lake  is  very  great,  but  its  waters  are  so  trans|)arent  that  one  can  look 
down  many  fatiioms  into  them  ;  thev  are  unsullied  by  any  disturbance  of  soil  or  sami, 
for  they   lie  in  a   bed  formed  almost  entirely  of  the  solid  rock. 

Few  things  could  have  more  |)erfect  beauty  than  this  mountain-lake,  and  its  even 
more  famous  neighl)or.  Lake  Tahoe,  some  fifteen  miles  farther  to  the  south.  The  scene 
is  never  twiei'  the  same.  Though  it  lies  under  the  unbroken  sunlight  through  a  y;ieat 
part  of  the  summer  weather,  there  is  perpetual  variation  in  the  great  mountain-shad- 
ows, and  in  breeze  and  calm  on  the  surface.  There  is  a  climate  here  that  makes  ahiinst 
the  ideal  atmosphere.  It  is  neither  cold  to  chilliness  nor  warm  to  discomfort,  but  always 
bracing,  invigorating,  inspiring  with  a  kind  of  pleasant  and  energetic  intoxication.  Ahcady 
invalids  come  to  these  saving  lakes  from  east  and  west,  and  find  new  life  uj)  among  the 


I  and  exhausted, 
1  "  lively  tiims;" 
L-   time  " — pciiods 

f  the  Ilunilioldi 
im  an  old  Iiulian 
oad  runs  by  tliu 
md  Winneniucca. 
;y  VVadswoiiii  is 
on,"  a  title  that 
-the  Sierras  fairly 

■  ahout  us,  as  wc 
ovvs,  and   at    last, 

in  the  wilderness, 
—the  first  of  the 
lace   of  six    thou- 

riots,  and  advcn- 
ward   the    interior 

I  cliffs  are  ragjjed 

thunders    throujrh 

of  an    incipient 

'"roin    tlie    town 

r  to  the  liiauti- 

I'he  <;;reat  sheet 

ep   sides,  and  in 

Sierra   summits. 

It  one  can  look 

f  soil    or  sand, 

:e,  and  its  even 
)uth.  The  scene 
throufrh  a  i;ieat 
mountain-shad- 
at  makes  almost 
nfort,  but  always 
cation.  Already 
up  amont;  the 


t'  .' ' " 


m^m. 


DONNER     LAKE,     NEVADA 


^^m 


'  W*^^^w  yr??^W?^^^W^' 


i 


1    ! 


Il 


1  1  I 
i  I  I 

1  ! 


196 


PICrURESOUE    AMERICA. 


pines  and  summits.  Theiv  arc  trout  in  the  waters  around,  and  fisiiing  here  is  more  tlian 
sport — it  is  a  lounge  in  dream-land,  a  rest  in  a  region  hardly  surjjassed  anywiiere  on  the 
globe. 

Here,  as  elsewhere  in  the  vSierras,  the  rock-forms  are  |jictures(jue  and  grand  at  ail 
points  of  tlie  view.  Castellated,  pinnacled,  with  sides  like  perpendicular  walls,  and  sum- 
mits like  chiselled  ijlatforms,  they  give  a  strangely  beautiful  aspect  to  every  shore  luid 
gorge  and  vallev.  The  roatl,  twelve  miles  in  length,  by  which  Lake  Tahoe  is  revi  IkcI 
from  Truckee,  affords  some  of  thi-  most  remarkable  and  memorable  \iews  of  these  forma- 
tions, with  all  their  singularities  of  outline,  that  can  be  obtained  in  any  accessible  region 
in  this  part  of  the  range  ;  anil  it  would  lie  impossible  to  lind  a  more  glorious  (hi\( 
than  is  this  along  the  edge  of  the  river-bed,  over  a  well-graded  path,  through  the  \cr\ 
heart  of  one  of  the  noi)K'st  grou|)S  of  the  Sierra  chain.  It  is  a  ride  to  be  lememiiercil 
with  the  great  passes  of  the  world- -with  the  Swiss  mountain-roads,  and  the  ravines  ot 
(ireece  —  in  its  own  way  as  beautiful  and  grand  as  these.  The  great  canons,  and  siuii 
ni)l)lc  breaks  in  the  n.ek-wall  as  I'an  gi\e  us  glimpses  like  that  of  tiu'  (liant's  (lap,  .iml 
a  hundred  others,  are  certainly  among  the  vistas  through  which  one  looks  ujion  ih. 
chosen  scenes  ol    the   whole   world. 

It  has  been  said  that   tiie  l.aveller  is  here  in  the  \erv  ci'iitrc   of  the   mountain-iaiim'.    \ 
The  general  featuies  of  structure  in  this  most  nobli-  region   of   the    continent    ha\e    bcni 
belter  des  libed  elsewheri-  than  we  can  show  them   in  our  own   words. 

"  l"or  four  hundred  miles,"  savs  Mr.  Clarence  l\ing,  who  knows  these  mjuniaiii-- 
better,  perha|)s,  than  anv  other  .\meri.an,  "the  Sierras  are  a  defmite  ridge,  broad  .tin; 
high,  and  having  the  form  of  a  sia-waxc.  lUittresses  of  sombre-hued  rock,  jultiuL;  ,11 
inler\,ds  from  ;•  Ueep  wall,  form  the  abrupt  eastern  slopes;  irregular  forests,  in  scalteinl 
growth,  huddle  together  mar  the  snow,  'ihe  lower  declivities  arc  barren  spurs,  sinking; 
into  the  sterile  Hats  of  the  Creat    Masin. 

"Long  ridges  of  compar.itivilv  gentle  outline  characleri/e  the  western  side;  biu  dii- 
sloping  table  is  scored,  from  summit  lo  base,  bv  a  svstetu  of  parallel,  transverse  cafidib 
distant  from  one  .mother  often  less  than  twenty-live  miles.  They  are  ordin.irilv  Iwu  ni 
three  ihous.md  fiit  deep  falling,  at  limes,  in  sheer,  smooih-fronted  elifls;  again,  m 
sweeping  curves,  like  the  hull  of  a  ship;  again,  in  rugged,  \'-shapod  gorges,  or  will 
inegular,  hillv  Hanks  opening,  at  l.ist,  through  gate-wavs  of  low,  lounded  fool-hilN.  i.m 
upon  the  liori/ontal   plain  of  the  Sui    foatjuin  and  .Sacramento.  .  ,  . 

"hull  .uid  monotonous  in  color,  there  ate,  however,  certain  elements  of  piclui('S(|iii 
iiiss  in  this  lower  zone.  Its  oak-e'  .1  hills  wander  out  into  the  great  pl.iin  lik<-  cm  1 
promontories,  enclosing  yellow,  or,  in  spring-time,  green,  bavs  of  prairie,  'ihe  hill-l>nii, 
aic  rounded,  or  stretch  in  long,  longitudinal  ridges,  broken  acr.iss  bv  the  liver-canmi 
Above  this  /one  of  red  earth,  soft ly-modi  lied  undulations,  and  dull,  grayish  groves,  will 
a  chain  of  mining-towns,  doited  ranches,  and  vineyards,  rise  the  swelling    middle    heiLiln 


■  J, 


lert  is  more  than 
anywhere;  on  tlu' 

and  tirand  at  all 
r  walls,  and  sum- 
evcry  shore  .uul 
Tahoe  is  rewlud 
i's  of  these  fonna- 

■  aecessihle  rcLjioii 
)re    glorious    (lii\i 

thidujih   the   Miv 

to   he  lemeinlii  red 

(1    the    ravines   dt 

earions,  and  ^inii 

(iiant's  (ia|i,  .md 

■  looks    ii|tiiM    \\w 

le   nionnlain-ninjri', 
itinent    have    hcin 

these  nii)uniains. 
lid^e,  hrnad  .iiul 
rock,  juttiiiii  at 
ests,  in  scalteixd 
reii  spurs,  sinkin;,' 

vn   side  ;    hut   1 1 
transverse   eannns 
oidinarih'  Iwn  oi 
el  ill's;    auain,   in 
irorjji'S,  or  with 
id    Ibot-hiils.  (lui 

s  III  |)ictuies(  I  Ill- 
plain  like  enlist 
The  hill  Iniim 
the  rivcr-cinmis. 
yisli  (jrovt's,  with 
1,:     middle    hei^'hts 


I  I 


a- 


I 


198 


P/C  TURESQ UE    AMERICA. 


of  the  Sierras — a  l)roaci,  billowy  ])latcau,  cut  hy  sharp,  sudden   canons,  and    s\vee])ing   u|j, 
with  its  dark,  superb  growth  of  coniferous  forest,  to  the  feet  of  the  summit-peaks.  .  .  . 

"  Alo.ig  its  upper  limit,  the  forest-zone  grows  thin  and  irregular — black  shafts  of 
Alpine  pines  and  tirs  clustering  viw  sheltered  slopes,  or  climi)ing,  in  disordered  proces- 
sions, up  broken  and  rocky  faces.  Higher,  the  last  gnarled  forms  are  passed,  and  beyoiul 
stretches  the  rank  of  silent,  white  peaks — a  region  of  rock  and  ice  lifted  above  tl.e  limit 
of   life. 

"  In  the  north,  domes  and  cones  of  volcanic  formation  are  the  summit,  but,  for  about 
thrc-  hundred  miles  in  the  south,  it  is  a  succession  of  sharp  granite  aii^iiillcs   and   cra!j;s. 
•  Prevalent    among   the   granitic    forms   are   singularly  perfect  conoidal    domes,  whose  sym- 
metrical figures,  were   it    not    for    their    immense    size,  would    im|)iess    one    as    having   an 
artificial  finish. 

"  The  .\lpine  gorges  are  usually  wide  and  open,  leading  into  amphitheatres,  whi)sc 
walls  are  either  rock  or  drifts  of  never-melting  snow.  The  sculjiture  of  the  summit  is 
very  evidently  glacial.  Beside  the  ordinarv  i)henomena  of  polishetl  rocks  and  moraines, 
the  larger  general  forms  are  clearly  the  work  of  frost  and  ici'  ;  and,  although  this  ice- 
period  is  only  feebly  represented  to-day,  yet  tht-  fre<|iient  avalanches  of  winter,  ami 
freshlv-scored  mountain-tlanks,  are  constant   suggc.itions  of  the  past." 

There  could  not  well  lie  a  more  satisfactory,  faitlifiil,  and  vivid  general  characteriza- 
tion of  the  Sierra  chain  than  this  that  we  have  (iiioted  from  the  account  of  one  of  oiii 
greatest  American  mountaineers.  Its  faithfulness  will  be  eonhrmed  by  every  view,  gained 
from  whatever  point,  of  the  series  of  giant  peaks  that  lie  in  long  line  to  the  north  and 
south  of  our  own  special  route  through  the  range. 

l'"ar  off  from  the  railwav-route,  in  those  parts  (tf  tlu'  Sierras  known  as  yet  onlv 
to  a  fiw  mountaineers,  there  is  Alpine  scenery,  not  only  as  grand  as  the  great,  world- 
known  views  in  the  heart  of  Switzerland,  but  even  of  almost  the  same  character.  Who- 
ever reads  Mr.  King's  "Ascent  of  Mount  'iyndall "  will  hnd  no  more  inspiriting  rccuni 
of  mountain-climbing  in  all  the  records  of  the  .\lpine  Club.  Indeed,  this  range  will 
be  the  future  working-ground  of  many  an  enthusiastic  successor  of  the  Tymii'lls  and 
Whympers  of  our  time,  and  the  scene  of  triumphs  like  that  of  (he  great  ascent  of  tlu' 
before  uncont|uere(l  Malterhorn  ;  perha|)s  though  Heaven  forbid!  the  witness  of  dis.is- 
teis  as   unspeakably  terrible  as   the   awful   f.ill   of   Douglas  and   his  fellow.s. 

In  reading  what  Mr.  King  and  his  companions  have  written  of  (he  wonderful  hidddi 
regions  of  the  great  chain,  which,  for  a  time  at  least,  we  must  know  only  (lirough  these 
interpreters,  wc,  and  every  reader,  must  be  partieularlv  struck  by  one  characteristic,  which 
(hey  all  note  in  the  scenes  that  thev  describe.  This  is  (he  majestv  of  (heii  <Usola(ioii 
the  spell  of  the  unknown  and  the  imvisited.  MiglKv  gorges,  with  giant  siiies  bearinjf 
the  traces  of  great  glacial  movements,  and  wa(ched  over  by  (rulv  Alpine  pinnacles  of  ice 
and  sn«»w.  are  the  weird  passes  int<i  the  silent  region    that    surrounds   the    highest    peaks 


i 


I 


sweeping  up, 
it-peaks.  .  .  . 
)lack  shafts  of 
ordered  proccs- 
ed,  and  beyoiul 
ibove  the  limit 

:,  but,  for  al)()ut 

'lies   and   crajrs. 

es,  whose  sym- 

as   having   an 

ilheatrcs,  whose 
the  summit  is 
s  anil  inoraiiKs, 
hough  this  ice- 
of    winter,   and 

ral  eharaeteriza- 
of  one  of  our 

M  V  view,  gained 
the  north   and 

as   yel   onlv 

great,  woild- 

laractcr.     Wlio- 

,)inting    vettud 

lis    range  will 

Tvndalls  and 

ascent  of  tlif 

llR'SS    ol     (lis.lS- 

iiiicrfiil  hidden 
through  tlusr 
leristic,  which 

M  desolation- 
sides   bearing 

linnaelcs  of  ice 
highest    peaks 


bUMMir    UK     I  MB    SIEIIHAS. 


200 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


(iiant's   (Ian 


within  the  limits  of  tin-  Tnitcd  Slates.  In  the  l.oiioin  ol  tlu-sc  dcrp  canons  arc  l.ik.s 
Iro/cn  (Iniinir  the  irnatcr  pait  of  the  ycai,  ami  at  other  limes  lying  witli  motionless 
water,   never  toiiehed   l)V  eanoe  or  keel. 

Ajrainst  the  trreat  precipices  of  the  ravines  are  i)iles  of  ,M>n's  such  as  are  faniili.u 
to  every  traveller  throii^rh  the  passes  of  the  .Alps.  .Snow,  encrnsfed  with  an  icv,  l.riliK 
crust,  lies  heaped  ajj^ainst   otl.er  portions  of  the  rockv  walls,  ami  cK.wns  th<ir  lops. 

Iliuh    up,  there   are    vast    glacial  formations;    moraines,    that   lie  in  lonu  ridj^cs,  willi 
steciily-slopinn  summits,  so  narrow  and  sharp  that  it  is  almost    impossible   to  walk  alniii; 
them.     Here,  too,  are  structures  of  ice,  pinnacles  and  needles  and  towers,  and  s<»metinics 
|)iles  which  have  formed  against  walls  of   rock,  hut  have  melted  away  until  they  ;"v  like    f] 
great  sheets  of  glass  standinir  on  edgi-,  whiit    through  them  a  hlue,  cold  light   is   cast   into 


.iiioiis  ail'  l.ikt' 
with    niotioiiii  ■• 


;is  urc  r.iinili.ii 
.in    ifv,  liniili 

icii   lops. 

Mii;  ridges,  wiili 
to  walk  .il  11.: 
ind  soiiKiiiiK 

ill   jIk'V  arc  lil^| 

^rlil   is   cast  inli 


I.' 

*^m^ 

\ 

f) 


R 


I 

m 


■A 

I 


Wm 


THE    PLAINS   AND    THE    SIERRAS. 


20 1 


the  chasm  that  now  intervenes  between  them  and  their  former  precipitous  supports. 
Almost  every  phase  in  the  phenomena  of  Alpine  scenery  is  repeated  here — often  with 
greater  beauty  than  in  that  of  Switzerland  even,  with  which  the  very  word  "  iVlpine "  has 
become  so  entirely  associated  by  usage. 

In  this  regit)n  of  hidden  grandeur  lies  the  ground  of  hope  for  those  cosmopolitan 
tourists  who  complain  that  the  world  is  a  small  place,  full  of  hackneyed  scenes,  after  all. 
So  long  as  there  is  locked  up  here  in  our  great  mountain-chain  such  a  glory  as  the  few 
who  have  penetrated  into  its  fortresses  have  described,  even  the  mountaineer  who  fancies 
he  has  exhausted  two  continents,  need  never  despair. 

One  noble  feature  of  the  whole  Sierra — of  all  of  it  save  that  which  lies  above  the 
level  of  any  vegetable  life — is  its  magnificent  forest-covering.  It  may  well  be  doubted  if 
the  growth  of  forests  of  pine  is  ever  seen  in  greater  perfection  than  is  found  here. 
These  tall,  straight,  noble  shafts  are  the  very  kings  of  trees.  Covering  the  great  slopes 
with  a  dense  mantle  of  sombre  green,  they  lend  a  wonderful  dignity  to  the  peaks,  as 
one  looks  upon  them  from  a  distance ;  and,  to  one  already  in  the  forest,  they  seem  the 
worthy  guardians  of  the  mountain-sides.  They  are  magnificent  in  size,  as  they  are  admi- 
ralile  in  proportion.  No  mast  or  spar  ever  shaped  by  men's  hands  exceeds;  the  already 
perfect  grace  of  their  straight,  unbroken  trunks.  They  are  things  to  study  for  their  mere 
beauty  as  individual  trees,  apart  from  their  effect  upon  the  general  landscape,  which  even 
without  them  would  be  wild  and  picturesque  enough. 

Of  all  these  features  of  the  noble  Sierra  scenery,  of  which  we  have  said  so  much, 
and  spoken  with  such  positive  enthusiasm,  il:  ^  traveller  by  the  railway  sees  little  or 
nothing.     I'or  through  the  very  finest  regions  of  the  mountains  the  track  is  of  necessity 


«i 


'l"he   S.in  Jo.i([uin    Kivcr. 


11 


1     ,  < 


j 

i  1  ^ 


THE    PLAINS  AND    THE    SIERRAS. 


203 


covered  in  by  strong  snow-sheds,  extending,  witii  only  trifling  breaks,  for  many  miles. 
Indispensable  as  they  are,  no  one  has  passed  through  their  long,  dark  tunnels  without 
feeling  a  sense  of  personal  wrong  that  so  much  that  is  beautiful  should  be  so  shut  out 
from  view.  Through  breaks  and  openings  he  looks  down  into  dark  canons,  with  pine- 
covered  sides,  and  catches  a  glimpse  of  a  foaming  river  hundreds  of  feet  below,  when 
suddenly  the  black  wall  of  boards  and  posts  closes  in  again  uj.  )n  the  train,  and  the 
picture  is  left  incomplete.  That  happiest  of  men,  the  lover  of  the  picturesque  who  has 
the  leisure  to  indulge  his  love,  must  not  fail  to  leave  the  travelled  route  here  for  days, 
and  to  satisfy  himself  with  all  the  grander  aspects  of  what  he  will  find  about  him. 

The  railway  passes  on  from  Truckee,  climbing  a  gradual  slope  to  Summit,  fifteen 
miles  farther,  the  highest  station  on  the  Central  Pacific,  tliough  still  lower  than  Sherman, 
of  which  we  spoke  long  ago.  Summit,  standing  at  the  highest  point  of  this  pass  through 
the  range,  is  at  an  altitude  of  seven  thousand  and  forty-two  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea;  and,  to  reach  it,  the  track  has  ascended  twenty-five  hundred  feet,  say  the  guides,  in 
fifty  miles ;  and  in  the  hundred  and  four  m'les  between  this  and  Sacramento,  on  the 
plain  beyond,  the  descent  must  again  be  made  to  a  point  only  fifty-si.x  feet  above  sea-level. 

This  part  of  the  journey — the  western  descent  from  Summit — is  one  that  the  writer 
has  several  times  reached  just  at  the  most  ji^lorious  period  of  sunrise.  There  can  be  no 
more  perfect  scene.  The  road  winds  along  the:  edges  of  great  precipices,  and  in  the  deep 
canons  below  the  shadows  arc  still  lying.  Th(  se  j)eaks  above  that  are  snow-covered  catch 
the  first  rays  of  the  sun,  and  glow  with  wonciirful  color.  Light  wreaths  of  mist  rise  uji 
to  the  end  of  the  '.one  of  pines,  and  then  drift  away  into  the  air,  and  are  lost.  All 
about  one  the  aspect  of  the  mountains  is  of  the  wildest,  most  intense  kind  ;  for  by  that 
word  "intense"  something  seems  to  be  expressed  of  the  positive  force  there  is  in  it  that 
differs  utterly  from  J;he  effect  of  such  a  scene  as  lies  passive  for  our  admiration.  This  is 
grand ;  it  is  magnetic ;  there  is  no  escaping  the  wonder-working  influence  of  the  great 
grouping  of  mountains  and  ravines,  of  dense  forests,  and  ragged  pinnacles  of  rock. 

But  soon  the  mountains  seem  to  fade  away,  and  before  we  realize  it  we  are 
among  the  foot-hills  —  those  oak-clad  or  bare  brown  hills,  that,  as  Mr.  King  told  us 
in  the  passage  we  quoted,  "wander  out  into  the  great  plain  like  coast  ])romontories, 
enclosing  yellow,  or,  in  the  spring-time,  green  bays  of  prairie."  And  so  out  upon  the 
plain  of  the  San  joacjuin.  We  might  fancy  ourselves  back  again  u])()n  tiie  Plains  were 
it  not  for  the  still  farther  range  of  heights  before  us.  These  are  brown,  bare,  un pict- 
uresque, outlying  hills,  and  we  dash  througli  them  by  Livermore's  Pass,  having  passed 
Sacramento,  and  go  on  our  way  toward  the  coast. 

Civilization  appears  again  ;  houses  and  towns  begin  to  line  the  track  ;  the  stations 
are  like  similar  places  in  the  East ;  the  prosaic  railway-pedlers  come  back  again  with  their 
hated  wares;  for  us,  the  picturesque  is  over;  and  already  the  hum  of  the  still  distant  city 
seems  almost  to  reach  our  ears,  as  we  dash  in  under  the  great  green  oaks  of  Oakland. 


THE    SUSQUEHANNA. 


WITH      ILLUSTRATIONS     1!Y     GRANVILLE     PERKINS. 


Mm 


1 V :;: 


d 


I  "HE  Susquehanna  is  considered  with  justice  one  of  the  most  picturesque  streams  of 
-*-  America.  It  is  true  that  the  scenery  along  its  banks  seldom  reaches  to  sul)iimc 
effects;  hut  these  do  not  touch  the  artist's  inmost  heart  so  deeply  as  the  softer  beauties 
wliieh  are  displayed  from  its  sources  almost  to  its  entrance  into  the  Chesapeake  Bay, 
There  are  no  yawning  precipices,  no  bare,  tremendous  cliffs,  no  savage  rocks,  no  "antres 
vast."  IJut,  in  their  stead,  there  is  a  constant  succession  of  bold  mountain-forms,  wooded 
from  the  i)ase  to  the  summit ;    of  deep  ravines,  where  the  pines  stand  in  serried  sIkuIoh. 


THE    SUSQUEHANNA. 


205 


Vu^^ 


^mi 


like  spearmen  of  Titanic  mould  in  ambush  ;  of  winding  hanks,  whose  curves  are  of  the 
most  exquisite  beauty ;  of  broad  sheets  of  brown  water,  swift  and  untamable,  whose  rapid 
flow  has  never  been  subjected  to  the  curbing  of  navigation  ;  of  a  superb  vegetation,  that 
clothes  with  equal  splendor  the  valley  and  the  hill-tops,  the  banks,  the  islands  of  the 
river,  and  the  undulating  plains  here  and  there  breaking  through  the  leaguer  of  the 
mountain-ranges.  All  these  attractions — these  gifts  of  a  tender,  loving  mother  Nature — 
have    been    bestowed    upon    the    Susquehanna ;   and  the  tourist  who    has   drunk    them    in 


Above   Columbia. 


iresquc  streams  of 
caches  to  sulilinic 
the  softer  beauties 

Chesapeake   Bay. 

rocks,  no  "autre? 
tain-forms,  wooded 

in  serried  siiadow, 


with  rapture  would  be  loath  to  exchange  them  for  mountains  that  invade  the  skies,  and 
whose  sullen  peaks  are  covered  with  a  snow-mantle  fringed  with  gliitering  glaciers.  For 
the  Susquehanna  is  not  only  beautiful  in  itself,  but  its  attractions  are  greatly  enhanced 
i)y  the  soft,  silvery  haze  through  which  they  are  presented.  This  gives  to  its  scenery  an 
indescribable  charm,  which  defies  alike  the  jjencil  and  the  pen,  but  which  never  iliils  to 
make  itself  felt  by  the  heart. 

It  must  l)e  admitted  that  all  of  the  Susquehanna  scenery  is  not  beautiful.     The  end- 


'JJ}l(rfy5^JSJ!»fe«^,!i!»l(ft^jti|«BS!W 


:i':i 


■It- 

ill 


v^'  '* 


I 


206 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


ing  is  dull  and  prosaic ;  and 
the  long  stretch  south  of  Co- 
lumbia, in  I.ancaster  Coun- 
ty, Pennsylvania,  to  Havre 
de  Grace,  in  Maryland,  i)rc- 
sents  nothing  worthy  of 
commemoration  by  the  j)cn- 
■  cil  or  comment  by  the  |)en, 
All  that  can  be  seen  is  a 
broad  stretch  of  brown  wa- 
ters, and  bare,  dull  banks, 
with  patches,  here  and  tin  r\ 
of  luxuriant  vegetation,  ;ui(i 
intervals  of  cultivated  ground. 
Above  Columbia,  comnnii- 
ces  the  beautiful  land.  line 
several  railroads  make  a  junc- 
tion, and  the  trunk-line  tlun 
follows  the  path  of  the  riv- 
er, wiiich  Is  due  northward. 
Here  we  meet  the  hillv 
country — waves  of  the  main 
ranges  of  the  Hlue  Moun- 
tains, so  called  i)ecause,  l)c- 
ing  wooded  to  the  very 
summits,  an  unusual  amount 
of  the  cerulean  haze  is  seen 
by  the  eye  at  a  distance, 
and  the  hills  appear  intense- 
ly blue.  The  Muse  who 
presides  over  geographical 
baptisms  has  not  ratified  the 
nomenclature  of  the  people, 
an<l  has  ignored  the  name 
of  "  Hlue  Mountains,"  pre- 
ferring the  Indian  denomi- 
nation of  "  Kittatinnies,  a 
word  which  is.  easier  to  pro- 
nounce  than  it  ap|)cars,  ami 


4= 


THE    SUSQUEHANNA. 


207 


and  prosaic ;  and 
etch  south  of  Co- 
I^ancaster  Coun- 
Ivania,   to    Havre 
in   Maryland,  pic- 
king    worthy    of 
ation  by  the  pcn- 
nicnt   by  the  pen. 
an    be   seen    is  a 
ch   of  brown  \va- 
bare,    dull    banks, 
cs,  here  and  there, 
It  vegetation,  and 
cultivated  ground. 
)lunibia,   comnien- 
utiful  land.     Here 
roads  make  a  junc- 
hc  trunk-line  then 
:  path  of  the  riv- 
is   due  northward. 
meet     the     hilly 
aves  of  the  main 
le    Hlue    Moun- 
k'd    because,  he- 
I     to     the     very 
unusual  amouni 
can  haze  is  seen 
at    a    distance, 
s  appear  intenw- 
riie     Muse    who 
cr     geograpiiicai 
s  not  ratified  the 
I    of  the  people, 
nored   the    name 
Mountains,"   |>re- 
Indian    denoini- 
Kittatinnies,    a 
is.  easier  to  i""- 
w   it  ap|)ears,  ami 


a 


has  a  soft  swell  about  it,  very  )leasant  to  the  ear,  like  most  of  the  old  Intlian 
names.  The  railway  skirts  the  base  of  these  mountains,  running  along  the  eastern 
bank  of  the  river,  and  affords,  from  the  windows  of  its  cars,  amjile  opportunities  for 
inspection  and  admiration.  To  the  right,  the  mountains  rise  up  in  grand,  rounded 
masses,  with  an  inexhaustible  wealth  of  noble  trees  down  their  sides.  Nowhere  can  one 
see  such  superb  forms  of  vegetation  as  on  the  side  of  a  mountain,  for  here  they  are  fully 
developed,  whereas  in  the  forests  they  grow  spindling,  having  excessively  tall,  thin  trunks, 
and  a  head  of  small  branches,  but  nothing  in  the  middle.  They  are  choked  for  want  of 
air;    and    so    they    aspire    toward    the    sky,   having    no    marked    devtlopmc  t    -^ve    that 


Glimpse   of  the   Susquehanna,   from    Kittatiniiy    Miiunlains. 

wliieli  is  upward.  Hut  on  the  mountain-side  every  tree  has  all  the  airy  food  it  needs; 
and  so  they  become  perfected,  and  put  forth  in  every  direction,  having  superb  branches  on 
every  sitle,  and  great  roots  that  clasp  with  intense  embraces  masses  of  solid  rock,  often 
s|>lit  asunder  by  this  twining.  On  the  bowUUi -covered  ground  is  a  superbly  co'ored  ear- 
[»et  of  many  kinds  of  undergrowth  convolvuli  and  creepers,  wild  grape-vines  and  hiuklc- 
lieiries,  flowers  of  a  hun<lred  different  kinds,  and  humble  strawberries  that  cling  to  the 
ground  as  if  te>  hiile  themselves  and  their  delicate  juiints  of  crimson  fruit.  (  )m  (he  Uft 
iiand  rushes  the  river,  swee|)ing  oinviinl  to  the  sea,  bearing  no  traces  of  that  lumber- 
trade  which   in   the  up})er  parts  is  all  in  all.      Scattered  over  tin-  surface  of  the  gleaming 


11 


'1 


208 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


waters  are  islands,  too  small  to  be  habitable,  covered  with  the  densest  vegetation,  that 
fairly  glows  with  vivid  hues  of  green.  Around  the  edges  of  these  islets — these  gems  of 
the  stream — are  often  bands  of  broad-leaved  rushes,  that  sigh  plaintively  as  the  wind 
passes  over,  as  if  there  was  much  excellent  music  in  them,  like  Hamlet's  flute,  if  unc 
knew  how  to  get  it  out.  Onward  rushes  the  train  with  its  freight  of  tourists  and  busi- 
ness people,  and  soon  reaches  Harrisburg,  the  political  capital  of  the  State  of  Pcnnsyl- 
vania,  and  a  thriving  manufacturing  town,  where  there  are  many  chimneys  vomiting 
volumes  of  black  smoke.  It  is  built  along  the  right  bank  of  the  river,  the  houses  of 
the  principal  inhabitants  being  on  Front  Street,  which  faces  the  stream.     The  town  occu- 


IXiupliin    K<n.k. 


n 


pics    the   ground    between  the  river  anii  the  hills,  which    here    retreat    considerably.     Tlif 
foot-hills,  or  low  spurs,  are  close  to  the  city,  and  are  beginning  to  be  i>uilt   upon. 

Brant's  Hill  is  ainiosi  in  a  direct  line  wiiii  the  crest  of  ground,  in  tlic  centre  of  tiu 
town,  on  which  the  capitol  is  built  ;  and  the  city,  therefore,  can  be  seen  most  excellently 
from  this  |ioint  lying,  indeed,  spread  out  before  one  like  a  |)anorama.  Hut  the  view  fiom 
Brant's  Hill  is  dpen  to  the  serious  objection  that  one  cannot  from  it  see  the  Suscpulian- 
na,  its  bridges,  and  its  islands.  To  view  these,  one  must  be  on  the  cupula  of  the  capitol. 
I'roni  this  position,  still  more  elevated  than  Brant's  Hill,  not  only  can  one  survey  all  iIh' 
city,  with  its  climbing  spires,  its  massive  manufactories,  and  their  asjiiring  chimneys,  bin  tin 


vegetation,  that 
—these  gems  of 
-ly  as  the  wind 
■tV.  flute,  if  (inc 
lurists  and  busi- 
tate  of  Pennsyl- 
iinncvs  vomiting 
r,  the   houses  of 

The  town  occu- 


ii^-iderahly.  Tlii' 
ilt  ii|)on. 
the  centre  of  tht' 
most  excellently 
Uil  the  view  from 
•e  the  Sus(|ii'lian- 
ila  of  the  (,i|«itiil 
me  survey  nH  tlif 
ehiinneys,  hut  tin 


i  I 


I    ii 


SCENES    ON     THE    SUSQUEHANNA. 


■>! 


210 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


bold  scenery  to  the  northward  comes  into  view,  and  one  has  a  distant  though  beautiful 
glimpse  of  Hunter's  Gap  and  the  range  of  mountains  through  which  the  Susquehanna  lias 
to  fight  its  way.  There  are  no  less  than  tliree  ranges,  tier  upon  tier,  standing  out  in  hold 
relief  against  the  sky,  each  range  having  a  different  tinge  of  blue.  Escaping  from  those, 
the  river  bursts,  as  it  were,  into  a  frenzied  joy,  and  from  the  cooped-up  imprisonment  of 
its  sandstone  walls  widens  its  bed  prodigiously,  and  makes  a  tremendous  sheer  to  the  wcsi 
before  it  strikes  due  south.  Hence,  opposite  Harrisburg,  the  river  is  unusually  wide, 
and  therefore  extremely  shallow,  which  increases  the  brown  ajjpearance  of  its  waters;  for 
in  manv  places  the  stream  is  not  a  foot  deep,  and  the  sandstone  bed  is  plainly  visihK 
the  eye  even  catciiing  all  the  lines  of  its  cleavage.  In  the  centre  of  the  sheer  which  the 
river  makes  is  the  pretty  village  of  Fairview,  to  which  the  Harrisburgers  go  as  to  a  sum- 
mer resort.  In  the  centre  of  the  river,  straight  in  a  line  from  the  glittering,  whitewashed 
cottages  of  the  village,  are  three  islands,  covered  with  fine  trees,  and  of  such  a  size  that 
picnics  are  possible  on  them.  They  are  very  close  together,  but  there  is  a  pass  between 
them,  through  which  shallops  can  glide,  tiiough  overhead  the  trees  commingle  their 
branches.  It  is  glorious  to  lie  in  a  i)()at  liere  at  sunset,  for  the  sun  goes  down  in 
summcr-tiine  just  behind  these  islands,  or,  to  be  more  accurate,  behind  the  ranges  of 
mountains  in  a  line  with  the  islands.  Just  when  the  sun  is  i)eginning  to  sink  luiiin' 
the  fiirthest  crests,  the  haze  that  wraps  their  fi)rms  is  turned  into  a  golden  haze  of  su- 
preine  glory,  and  the  last  rays  come  shooting  through  tiie  commingled  foliage  of  the 
islands  like  veritable  arrows,  and  fall  upon  the  water  in  long  pencils  of  lellected  fire 
These  grow  more  and  more  dusky  and  dreamy,  until  they  become  only  faint  blotches  of 
liiin  light,  and  at  last  the  brown  stream  rushes  through  unglorified.  In  the  mean  while 
theie  has  been  a  battle  between  the  golilen  haze  and  the  blue  upon  the  mountains.  .\i 
first,  the  golden  carries  every  thing  before  it,  save  at  the  bases,  which  seem  mantled  in  ,i 
brilliant  green.  This  spreads  and  spreads  until  it  covers  all  llu'  mountain-forms,  and  then 
it  slowlv,  slowly  changes  to  its  accustomed  blue.  As  this  takes  place,  so  the  bold  nesi- 
of  the  ranges,  hidden  at  first  by  the  wealth  of  golden  fiie,  struggle  into  existence,  and 
at  length,  show  vividly  against   the  clear  pallor  of  the  twilight  sky. 

This  is  the  ajipearance  of  Hunter's  Gap  at  a  distance.  Close  at  hand,  it  his  nn 
such  gorgeous  transformations  of  color,  but  it  presrnfs  its  own  distitiguishing  be  ititie'. 
The  river  turns  and  twists,  writhing  like  a  fever-burned  mortal,  or  some  animal  trying  td 
escajjc  from  a  trap,  The  mountains  eomjiass  it  about  on  every  side;  they  hem  it  in 
about,  around,  east,  west,  north,  and  south,  making  what  the  lumbermen  call  a  kettle, 
which  is  more  poetic  than  it  seems  to  be;  for,  if  the  gentle  reader  will  imagine  himself 
a  crieki't  at  the  bottom  of  a  copper  kettle,  swiinming  around  and  looking  upward  de- 
spairingly at  the  huge  walls  that  prison  him,  he  will  appreciate  the  language  of  the  luni 
bermen.  iiut,  though  the  general  aspect  is  terrifying,  there  arc  (piiet  sylvan  nooks,  where 
the  mountains  .show  their  gentler  sides,  and,  instead  of  presenting  their  fronts,  turn  to  u!> 


THE    SUSQUEHANNA. 


211 


though  beautiful 
Susquehanna  has 
uiing  out  in  hold 
apin^  from  tlusc, 
imprisonment  of 
sheer  to  the  west 
5  unusually  wide. 
of  its  waters ;  for 
is  plainly  visihk, 
I  sheer  which  the 

jro  as  to  a  sum- 
iring,  whitewashed 

such  a  size  that 
is  a  pass  between 

commingle  their 
in  goes  down  in 
id  the  langts  oi 
r  to  sink  i)i'liin 
olden  haze  of  su- 
led    foliage  of  tiu' 

of   reflected    firi 

faint  blolchis  ul 
the  mean  whili 
mountains.    At 

jm  mantled  in  a 

ii-forms,  and  then    ^ 
the  bold  ciesi'. 
existence,  and 

hand,  it  ii:\s  n 
iiishing    laMiitio, 

Miiinal  trying  tn 
they  hem  it  in 
■n    call    a    kettle, 

imagine  himself 
;ing  upwaiil  <lt'- 
iiagc  of  the  hini 

an  nooks,  uherc 
ronts,  turn  to  us 


huge,  undulating  flanks,  covered 
with  glorious  pines  and  noble 
oaks,  spreading  hickories  and 
dark  hemlocks.  These  are  the 
jilaees  where  the  trout  -  streams 
come  singing  through  the  ravines, 
murmuring  their  thanks  to  the 
pines  for  their  shelter  and  com- 
l)anionshi|).  The  water  of  the 
Sus(|uehanna  is  too  warm  in 
Nniih  I'oiiii.  summer-time    for    (he    sjjeckled 

Hivorites  of  the  hunter,  and  they 
ill  llv  !nr  rehige  into  these  little  mountain  -  streams,  which  are  their  summer  resorts. 
•Along  the  banks  of  these  pleasant,  meandering  waters  there  are  deer  still  feeding, 
iiid  bears  occasionally  show  their  black  inuz/les,  so  that  (he  name  which  was  given 
I"  tills  gate  of  the  river  in  old  times  is  still  merited,  and  theie  is  plenty  of  sp*)rt 
tnr   iho.sc    that    love    it.      But    there    is   still    better    sport   in   ascending    the    mountains, 


I   i 


t  ! 


212 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


not  for  game,  but  for  scenery ;  and,  from  the  overhan2;infj  branches  of  the  trees  tliat 
crown  the  slopes  of  the  Kittatinnies,  gazing  upon  the  glimpses  of  the  Susquehanna 
that  open  out  far  below.  All  the  rush  and  roar  of  the  water  has  then  passed  out 
of  hearing;  all  the  fury,  the  vexation,  and  the  struggle  of  the  imprisoned  stream  has  dis- 
appeared, and  the  waters  seem  to  slumber  peacefully  beneath  the  kisses  of  the  sun.  Still 
more  exquisite  is  it  in  the  moonlight ;  and  many  a  hunter,  from  the  solitude  of  his  camp- 
fire,  lias  watched  the  white  beams  stealing  over  the  ripi)lcs  of  the  river,  and  transmuting 
them  to  molten  silver.  The  gap  proper  is  tlie  last  gate-way  cut  by  the  river  through  the 
hills  ;  but  tliere  is,  in  fact,  a  succession  of  gaps,  through  which  the  Susquehanna  in  times 
past  battled  fiercely  every  spring-time ;  for  three  distinct  ranges  lie  right  across  its  path, 
which  runs  due  south,  the  hills  sweeping  from  northeast  to  southwest.  Hence  the  gap- 
district  extends  for  nearly  thirty  miles.  At  Dauphin  Point  is  perhaps  the  most  tremen- 
dous of  these  mute  evidences  of  the  past  struggle.  Mere  the  mountains  are  considerably 
higher  tiian  at  the  'commencement  of  this  region,  and  the  forms  are  very  much  l)oldcr. 
There  is,  in  i)arts,  an  appearance  of  castellated  rock,  jutting  out  fn^ni  the  trees  which 
grow  over  all  the  mountains.  Mere  and  there  are  crags  which  are  truly  precipitous; 
ami  these,  contrasting  with  the  softer,  miklcr  features  of  the  mountain  do  not  o|)]ircss 
the  senses  with  a  feeling  of  awe,  but  only  heighten  and  intensify  the  general  effect, 
acting  as  high  lights  do  in  a  picture.  Here  the  railroad  that  accompanies  the  Juniata 
in  iier  wanderings  crosses  over  to  the  left  side  of  the  Sus(]ueiianna,  leaving  this  stream 
altogether  at  Duneannon,  where  it  nrites  with  the  bold,  whelming,  brown  tlood  of  the 
big  river.  The  meeting  of  the  waters  is  the  termination  of  the  gap-region;  for,  although 
there  are  huge  hills,  and  ])lentv  of  them,  along  the  river,  it  is  not  crossed  in  the  saine 
manner  by  any  succession  of  main   ranges. 

The  scenery  now  takes  on  a  much  more  composed  aspect,  for,  from  this  point  uj)  to 
Northumberland,  where,  according  to  the  language  of  the  country,  the  river  forks  into 
North  and  West  branches,  the  hills  retire,  and  the  banks  of  the  stream  arc  for  the  most 
part  bordered  by  foot-hills,  which  are  cultivated  with  a  careful,  intelligent  husbandry,  that 
inakes  this  |)art  of  the  countrv  of  a  most  smiling  appearance.  Cornfields  wave  their 
tall  stems  in  the  lowlands;  wheat  whitens  in  broad  patches  along  the  slo|)es  of  the  hills, 
up  to  (he  summits;  and  the  vicinitv  of  the  stream,  where  the  richest  soil  is,  will  jicii- 
erally  be  found  occu|)ied  by  tobacco,  wiiich  tlourishes  here  surprisingly.  As  one  approaches 
Northumberland,  however,  these  foot-hills  become  larger,  higher,  and  less  jiastoral  in  char- 
acter, until,  at  the  actual  point  of  jimetion  of  the  two  rivers,  those  on  the  east  l)ank  an 
actually  precipitous ;  and,  moreover,  they  are  ruder  in  appearance  than  elsewhere,  being 
almost  entirely  ilenuded  of  timber.  The  scene  here  is  a  very  interesting  one.  The  West 
Fkanch  at  this  point  runs  due  north  and  south,  and  receives  the  North  liranch,  running 
nearly  due  east.  The  latter  is  very  nearly  as  large  a  stream  as  the  former ;  but  the 
majesty  of  its  union  is  somewhat  marred  by  a  large,  heavily-timbered  island,  which  occu- 


the  trees  that 
le  Susquehanna 
lien    passed   nut 

stream  has  dis- 
f  the  sun.  Still 
idc  of  his  cainp- 
\\u\  transmuting 
iver  through  the 
lehanna  in  times 
:  across  its  path, 
Hence  the  gap- 
he  most  trcnun- 

arc  considerahly 
ery  much  holder. 

the  trees  which 
;i-uly  precipitous; 
do  not  oppress 
le  general  eflect, 
anies  the  Juniata 
living  this  stream 
wn  Hood  of  the 
on  ;   for,  although 

ssed  in  the  same 

this  point  up  to 
river  /oris   into 
are  for  tiie  most 
husbandry,  that 
iilds   wave  their 
|H'S  of  the  hills, 
soil  is,  will  gen- 
^-^  one  api>roaehes 
astoral  in  char- 
le  east   hank  art 
elsewhere,  iieing 
one.     The  West 
liranch,  running 
former ;   hut  the 
land,  which  occu- 


PINE     FOREST    ON     WEST     BRANCH     OF    THE    SUSQUEHANNA 


f    i 


■■•! 

■f  X 


21/1 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


pics  the  centre  of  the  current.  The  whole  region  is  permeated  by  canals  which  abound 
with  locks.  The  canal-boats  here  have  to  make  several  crosshigs,  and  there  are  alwii\  s  a 
tew  idlers  at  'Sc  ends  of  the  long  wooden  bridges  to  watch  them  crossing  the  streams. 

Everywhere  around  Northumberland  are  strong  hints  that  the  tourist  is  getting  into 
the  lumber-regit)n  ;  and  the  next  point  of  imi)ortance,  \Villiams|)ort,  is  the  very  head(iuar- 
tcrs  of  the  lumber-traile  in  the  eastern  j)art  of  the  United  States.  The  West  Branch  of 
the  Susquehanna  at  this  place  has  taken  a  bold,  sweeping  curve  due  west,  and  has  left 
behind  it  a  spur  of  the  AUeghanies.  Mere  comes  in  the  Lycoming  River,  down  which 
thousands  of  logs  float.  But  down  the  Susquehanna  come  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
oak  and  hemlock,  and,  above  all,  of  pine.  One  cannot  see  much  live  pine  at  Williams- 
port  ;  but  down  by  the  river-side,  and  at  the  boom,  one  can  see  nothing  but  logs  of 
every  size  and  length.  The  children  of  the  street  jjlay  upon  them,  fearlessly  junqjing 
from  (jnc  to  the  other,  as  if  there  were  no  cold,  black  water  underneath.  But,  though 
there  undoubtedly  is,  it  cannot  be  discerned.  Wide  as  the  space  is,  the  eye  catches 
nothing  but  a  low  wide  plain  covered  with  timber.  Of  water  not  a  speck  is  visible. 
Close  by  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river  the  hills  rise  up  very  grandly,  but  on  the  other 
side  of  the  town  tiny  are  far  awa\',  for  the  valley  of  the  Suscpiehanna  at  this  |)oint 
is  quite  broad.  It  begins  to  narrow  a  little  as  we  approach  Lock  Haven,  which  is  also 
a  lumber-]ilace — a  minor  sort  of  Williamsport.  It  is  a  very  charming  little  place,  verv 
busiling,  very  thriving,  and  more  picturesque  than  the  larger  town  of  Williamsport.  The 
canal  at  Lock  Haven  is  fed  with  water  from  the  Bald-Eagle -\%alley  Creek,  which  falls 
here  into  the  big  ri\er,  after  traversing  the  whole  valley  from  Tyrone,  not  far  from  the 
head-waters  of  the  Juniata,  the  princii)al  tributary  of  the  Susquehanna,  Lock  Haven  is 
on  the  left  or  south  bank  of  the  river;  and  the  railroad  here  crosses  over  to  the  north 
side,  and  continues  there  for  a  very  considerable  distance.  \'^ery  shortly  after  this  cross- 
ing, the  mountains  come  down  upon  the  river,  and  hem  it  in.  These  are  several  thousand 
feet  in  height,  and  present  a  singular  variety  of  forms — all,  however,  |)leasing  by  grandeur 
nn)re  than  sublimitv.  At  North  Point,  especially,  the  mountain-forms  fairly  arrest  the 
eye  of  the  most  phlegmatic.  In  one  direction,  one  mountain  proudly  raises  itself  like  a 
sugar-loaf;  in  another,  the  side  is  presented,  and  it  is  not  unlike  a  crouching  lion;  in  a 
third,  the  front  is  shown,  and  the  mountain  then  turns  in  so  peculiar  a  fashion  as  to  un- 
cover its  great  flanks,  giving  it  the  appearance  of  an  animal  lying  down,  but  turning  its 
head  in  the  direction  of  the  spectator.  Close  by  is  another  pyramidal-shaped  mass,  whose 
body  meets  the  flank  of  the  former,  forming  a  ravine  of  the  most  pictures(|ue  character, 
where  the  tops  of  the  pines,  when  agitated  by  the  breeze,  resemble  the  tossing  waves  of 
an  angry  lake. 

The  trees  along  the  Susquehanna  are  now  of  various  kinds — oaks,  [)ines,  niajiles 
hickories,  hemlocks,  tulip-trees,  birches,  wild-cherry,  etc.  —hut  the  lumberers  say  that  the 
pines  were  the  indigenous  children  of  the  soil,  and  that  the  others  have  sprung  up  since 


lals  which  abound 
there  are  always  a 
sing  tlie  streams. 
rist  is  getting  into 
the  very  headiiuar- 
e  West  Branch  of 
west,  and    has   left 
River,  down  which 
Is  of  thousands  of 
,•  i)ine  at  Williams- 
ithing    but    logs  of 
,  fearlessly  jumping 
eath.      But,  tliough 
is,  the    eye   catches 
a   speck  is  visible, 
y,  but  on  tlie  other 
lanna    at    this   point 
aven,  which    is  also 
ing  little  place,  ver\- 
Wiltiamsport.    The 
,'  Creek,  whicli  falls 
;,  not   far   from  the 
a.      Lock  Ilavcn  is 
over   to    the   north 
tlv  after  this  cross- 
ire  several  thousand 
easing  by  grandeur 
nis  fairly  arrest  the 
raises  itself  hkc  a 
nicliing    lion  ;  in  a 
a  fasliion  as  to  un- 
wii,  but  turnirifj  its 
sliaped  mass,  whose 
ieturescjue  character, 
le  tossing  waves  of 

)aks,  pines,  maples 
berers  say  that  the 
ive  sprung  up  since 


FERRY     AT    RENOVO. 


I 


^1 


-J 


u 


216 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


■\ 


they  were  felled.     This,  perhaps,  is  so  ;  for,  in  places  where  there  is  no  access  to  the  river, 
the  woods  are   all   of  pine.      The    lumberers  only  cut  the  timber  where  it  can  be  rolled 
down  or  hauled  to  the  river,  to  be  floated  with  the  whelming  spring-Hoods  to  the  timber- 
yards   of  Williamsport    and  Lock    Haven,  so  that  those  places  which   offer    no    favorable  i 
opportunities  of  this  kind  are  altogether  spared.    Those  persons  who  have  never  wandered  I 
up  a  mountain  covered  with  pine-trees  have  no  conception  of  the  sublimity  of  such  a  i)lacc.  I 
There  is  a  silence,  a  solemnity,  about   a  pine-wood,  which   at   once  impresses   the   senses  I 
with   a   sentiment  of   awe.      In    other   forests   the   ear   and   eye   are   greeted   with   many  I 
sounds  of  life  and  glancing  forms.     Hut  through  the  dim  aisles  of  the  tall"  pines  there  is  I 
neither  sound  nor  motion.      It  has  its  own  atmosphere,  also,  for  the  air  around  is  loaded  I 
with   the  strong  fragrance  which  these  trees  breathe  forth.      To   speak  with   candor,  it  is  I 
overpowering  to  delicate  nostrils ;  but  for  strong,  robust  natures  it  has  a  wonderful  attrac-  I 
tion.     The   lumberers  have  a  passionate   love   for   the   "  piny  woods,"  as   they  call  them,  I 
wiiich  artists  fully  share  with  them.  t^    %  /  ".>J^^'  ,  I 

Hut,  superb  as  is  the  sight  of  a  pine-wood  in  all  its  pristine  splendor,  the  speetacle  I 
of  one,  after  the  lumberers  have  been  felling  right  and  left,  is  by  no  means  adniiralilc.  I 
The  ground  that  .vas  once  carpeted  with  the  delicate  white  stars  of  the  one-berry  llower  I 
and  the  low  glories  of  tli'  ood-azaleas,  is  now  covered  with  chips  antl  bark  and  twigs.  I 
and  trees  felled  but  abandoiml,  i)ecause  discovered  to  be  unsound  and  useless.  The  place  I 
is  a  slaughter-house,  and  the  few  trees  that  have  escaped  serve  but  to  intensify  the  un- 1 
pleasant  aspects  of  the  scene.  I 

Accommodations  in  thr  lumber-region  are  not  of  the  best;  and  the  adventurous  trout- | 

fisher,  though  he  will  have  plenty  of  sport,  will  also  have  plenty  of  annoyances.     It  is  em-  f 

I 
phatically  a  land  where  you  can  have  everything  that  you  bring  along  with  you.     Of  iati  | 

years  the  railway  company   iiave  become  ali\c    to   the    natural    advantages   of  their  luiitt 

and  the  intluence  that  beautiful  scenery  has    upon    trafl'ie.     They  have    recently  erected  a 

line    hotel    at    Renovo,   which    is    the    only    stopping-place   of  importance    between   Lock 

Haven  and  Emporium.     This  almost  immediately  became  a  favorite  summer  resort,  heini; 

located    at    a   most    i)ietuies(|ue   point   on    the   river,  in    the    immediate    vicinity   of  mam 

beautiful  mountain -streams,    in    which    the    trout    shelter    during    the    hot    weather     Tin 

valley   of  the  Susiiuehanna   at    Renovo    is    nearly  circuhr    in    shape,  and    not  very  bioaJ, 

The    mountains    rise    uj)    almost    perpendicularly    from    the    south    bank,    which    is   nic-t 

picturesque,   the    other    bank    being    low   and    shelving.     The   hotel,  surrounded    by   luiii 

tifully-kept    lawns   adorned  with    parterres    of  brilliant    tlowers,  becomes   a    marked   imiiit 

in    the    landscajie,   although    in    the    early    summer    its    blossoms   are    put   to    shaiiu 

the   wild  -  Mowers    of    the    surrounding   mountains;    for    at    this    time    the    slopes  of  tin 

giant    hills    are    everywhere    covered   with    tiic    pale-purple    rhododendrons,    which,   wluii 

aggregated    into    large    masses,  fairlv  dazzle   the    e\e    with    the    excess    of  splendid    colui. 

Later,  whin    all    the    ilowerets   of  the    wild-woods   are    small    and    insignificant,  tlv   ln" 


m 


o  access  to  the  river, 
here  it  can  be  rolled 
floods  to  the  timhcr- 
li  offer  no  favorable 
have  never  wandered 
imity  of  such  a  place. 
impresses   the   sinscs 

greeted  with  many 
he  tall"  pines  there  is 

air  around  is  loaded 
ak  with  candor,  it  is 
IS  a  wonderful  attrac- 
"   as   they  call  ihem, 

plendor,  the  spectacle 

no    means   admirable. 

the  one-berry  (lower 

and  bark  and  twigs, 

d  useless.     The  place 

to   intensify  liu'  iin- 


■><>  t. 


-iS- 


"V 


»5* 


i^fj^  ^ttf^ 


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it»iW 


he  adventurous  trout- 
nnoyances.  It  is  em- 
ig  with  you.  Of  late 
itages  of  their  route 
'e  recently  erected 
tance    between   Lock  I 

summer  resort,  licini; 
ite  vicinity  of  nianv 
I    hot    weather.     The  I 

and    not  very  broad 
)ank,    which    is   mi« 
surrounded    i)y   l)eaii| 
lies   a    marked   poii 
e    put    to    shame  In  j 
e    the    slopes  of  llni 
iidrons,    which,   wiuii 
ss    of  splendid    colwl 
nsignificant,  the   IhkI^ 


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■CKNEft    ()N    THr    Nolllll     MliANrH    np    THK    R' '  tQUBHANNA. 


» 


2l8 


PIC  TURESQ UE    AMERICA. 


f4 


i-^ 


North    Dr,ituh   nf    tin-    SuM|uehannu,    nl    itunlockt. 

of  (lu-   nillivaltd    lawns   come    (,.,ili    .md    rcmw  (he-   rivalry  with  tlir  wild  st-cm-s  ..lom- 
Hum  inorr  suctcssfully.     Just  oppositf  the  hctil  a  muiintain    risis   t..    ..    \^^•\^\^\   ,,i   nu, 
tv-thrtr    hutulrtd    ftct    u^    on,.    va>.|    slu|»    of    lisin^r    ^n-cn,    asc.-mliri^r    withuul     i    I.m.;| 
in  a  >rran<l  incline  ri^lu    i|.  fr„m  tlu-  wali-r's  i%f.  whost-  hrown   fl(.o(l  is  not    hen    l.n* 
inoutfh  to  rttl.-ct  tiK-  t-nti-i-  ontlin.s  „f  jhr  stu|M-n(loiis  mass,     l-or  hrrr  the  river  n..rro«J 
considiral.lv,  and  is  very  d  rp  undir  the    mountain-sidf.  U-coininK    shullowi-r   as   iIh    uJ 


THE    SUSQUEHANNA. 


219 


..  lid  •^iTncs  .iioiiml 

'    lu'inlit   <'i   i«t" 

withoiil    a    I'liiM 

is  nnl    hcii    Iti'.viIJ 

u-  tin-  river  n.irriw 

ilKtwcr   as    the  \'^\ 


approaches  the  northern  hank. 
The  Httle  town  of  Renovo  is 
stretched  along  the  Susque- 
hanna side,  its  breadth  being  in- 
considerable, altliough  the  val- 
je\'  licre  must  be  nearly  half  a 
mile  wide.  The  hills  on  the 
other  side  are  not  so  high  as 
the  one  that  bids  defiance  to 
the  eitv  folks  in  the  hotel,  dar- 
ing,  as  it  were,  their  utmost 
efforts  to  climb  up  it.  i\s 
tluie  is  no  road,  anti  plenty 
(it  rattlesnakes,  few  people  arc 
bdld  enough  to  accept  the 
mnte  challenge.  But  on  the 
Otiier  side  of  the  valley  the 
mountains  are  easily  accessible, 
and.  in  fact,  are  the  daily  re- 
soil  I'f  tourists  who  love  to 
shoot,  or  to  pick  blackberries 
or  luicklebenies,  which  last 
grow  in  immense  ([uantities 
iaroinid  Kenovo.  There  is  a 
niountain-road  here  which  |)en- 
|eti.Uts  through  the  country  to 
the  soulluvard,  and  the  teams 
[criiss  the  riv<r  in  a  dreadfuBy 
ri(  kily  kiiy.  This  is  a  species 
[of  tl.U-boat,  which  is  propelled 
|aeriiss  iiy  a  man  hauling  on  a 
rope  suspended  from  the  high 
Isoiith  b,mk  to  .1  huge  pole  on 

he  oilier  shore.  In  the  win- 
fry    days,    when    the    river    is 

:<irlMilent  nnd  the  winds  are 
lliinh.  the  irossing  here  is  not 
I  Very  pleasant  ;  bill  in  the 
I  jolly  summer -tide   it    Incomes 


I'atinl    lit    II  unlocks. 


■  f 


li 


m 

^,:! 


220 


P/C  TURESO  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


K! 


a  kiiui  ('''i  pns.timc,  iiini  tlie  visitors  from  laifje  cities  are  so  amused  at  tiiis  rude  method 
of  prcyjiression  tli:u  they  cross  reiK'iitedly  for  the  fun  of  it.  The  view  from  the  cin- 
tre  of  tlie  stream  is  beautiful  e\cccdiii-uly.  (;iie  tv't'^  a  better  idea  of  the  circular  shape 
of  the  vallev,  and  the  manner  in  wiiicii  \.\\c  hills  have  retired  to  let  t'.ic  little  town 
havi-  a  foothold.  And  there  are  islanils  in  the  channel  covered  with  beautiful  niossi., 
and  stretches  of  sliallow  water  where  rocks  peep  •  p,  on  which  trray  cranes  perch  witli 
solemn  air,  busih  eniiatjed  in  lishinjj.  The  shadows  of  the  mountain';'  i)ank,  too,  are 
thrown  into  relief  bv  the  sunshine  on  the  water,  antl  the  mountains  to  the  wesiward 
form  a  brilliant    back<;round,  with  their  tree-laden  slopes  brisjlitened  with  golden  tiiiis. 

;\t  this  |)oinl,  ihouLih  the  evt'  cannot  discern  tiiem  l)ecause  they  are  hid  l)v  tin 
mountains,  the  tourist  is  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  numberless  trout-streams.  IhiH 
nms  have  (pieer  naines,  such  as  Kettle  Creek,  Ilammersley's  I'ork,  N'ountj  Wniii.m, 
(reek,  iMsh-dam  Run,  Wyckofl's  Run,  Sinnemahoninj>-  Run,  etc.  The  last  is  a  stream  of 
considerable  si/e,  and  is  one  of  the  |)rincipal  tril)utaries  of  the  West  IJranch  of  the  Sus- 
(pielianna.  It  runs  up  i)i\(ind  I'.mporium,  and  much  lumber  is  sent  down  its  current  ii. 
the  spiinji.  I  lie  Susijuehanna,  after  receivini>  the  cold  waters  of  Kettle  Creek,  be<iiiis  ii 
incline  southward,  and,  from  its  junction  with  thi'  Sinnemahoninn,  makes  an  abrupt  tun; 
due  sonthwaid  toward  tlu'  town  of  ("learheld.  I'nim  this  point  it  ceases  to  be  a  rivir 
biaiuliinii  "If  into  mimeioiis  citt'ks  that  rise  fiom  the  mountains  *.•''(  this  rejrion,  ulurt 
it  is  all  eillu'r  hill  or  \ail(V,  and  where  a  jilain  is  a  rarity.  The  land  here  is  culliv.iit,; 
uilh  caie  and  success,  biu  the  pKvailin^  industry  is  mininjr,  all  the  mountains  hen  wv, 
lainii))!  irim-oic.  Theic  is  M>me  (onsidcrable  dil1icult\  in  iio.uin.u  down  loirs  to  tin  111,11, 
strcnn  )l  the  .Sus(|uehanna  bilow  (leailield,  and  most  of  the  timber  '.111  is  used  lor  tlu 
purpose  of  smeltiujj:  or  for  foijfes,  whi"e  tiie  charcoal  hammered  iion  is  made.  Tin 
scenerv  is  not  so  wild  as  miulil  be  imagined,  the  forms  <>•  the  moui\tains  seldom  varv- 
inji  from  somewhat  monotonous  jj^randeiir,  relieved  bv  the  beauty  of  the  forest-trees  \\\m 
their  sides.  I5ut  lor  the  ;icolojfist  the  ic^ion  is  sini;ulail\  intt  testing,  since  evinwhm 
,ire  presented  vestiges  of  the  firand  f>:t(tles  of  old  days  between  the  im|)risoned  uatw 
uid   their  jailei-,  the   liuire   hills. 

To  dcMribe  till'  north  br.uu  h  of  the  Suscpiehanna,  it  will  be  necessary  to  retiate 
iiur  steps  to  .Xoilhinnberland,  the  |  "inl  of  junction.  The  North  Uranch  runs  here  .ihnu'^ 
due  east,  .iisliint;  riirhl  ihroiiyh  .1  majestic  i;'iiy:»'  of  mountains,  which  piss  undd  tlif 
generic  title  nt  "  .MIeuhanies."  The  i,iilwa\-  is  on  the  northern  side,  and,  lor  a  eonsiikr- 
dile  distance,  is  built  on  a  sort  of  slulf  ,it  the  b.ise  of  the  mountains,  close  to  (ht 
livei  s  ed),ie,  but  separated  fiom  it  bv  the  I'ennsylvania  (anal,  wliiih  fiinj^ri-s  this  liraiidi 
n|  ihe  Si:s(mehanna  aim  ft  Innn  its  sources  in  New-N'ork  .Slate.  Tiie  inount.iins  Inn 
.iie  lar  bolder,  more  roe'.v.  and  with  f.ir  less  limber,  exhibiting  \\\\\ty  crajfs  of  a  jiictu- 
I'Mjue  (iiaracler,  very  unlike    the  small  fra^'ments  ti  -    .'*ie  hills  of  the  Western  I'orL 

The    many  chimneys    vomiin  l'    bLek    smok<      n    '^niviK-    ♦!  ■     (Mst    place    of  irnportancf 


at  tliis  rude  method   !l 

\ic'\v    from    the   cen-  i 

ol    tlie  circular  sha|)f 

I    let    t'.ic    little    town 

itii    beautiful   mosses. 

ay  cranes    perch  wiili 

iitainV    bank,  Unt,  are 

>ins    to    the  wesiward 

with  golden  tints. 

they  arc    hid    li\-  the 

trout-st  reams.     Tln'se 

irU,    N'ounjr    Wuinan's 

le  last  is  a  stream  of 

t    Hranch  of  the  Sus- 

t  down  its  current  in 

.Itle  Creek,  ix^ins  ti^ 

lakes  an    alirupl   tuni 

cease  i    to    he   a   r'wa 

of  this    region,  wlun 

nd    here    is    eiillivatii! 

mountains  here  con 

wn  lojis  lo  the  main 

'.!Ut   is  used    lor  tht 

iron   is  made.     The 

niains    seldom  van- 

the  forest -trees  upon 

L'.  since    evi'n  where 

imprisoned  waters 

necessary  lo  letrace 
nich  runs  here  almos 
hit  h  pass  lu'dc  r  llif 
and.  (or  a  consider- 
uilains,  close  Id  the 
frinjjes  this  lirancli 
he  mountains  heic 
(■  crajjs  of  a  pictu- 
if  the  Western  I'ork. 
place    of  importanct 


a 

0 

z 

>• 

D 

a 

a 

a 


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am 


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'■         K  ■ 

1     ,: 


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■  I  (  'iS  ■ , 

':-■' (I' ■»    r 


ill  ifc 


'  IH'' 

"if   : 


-<* 


1 


322 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


the  tourist  reaches,  remind  him  rorcil)ly  that     e    is   not   out    of  the    iron-rcp:ion ;  and  tin 
coal-cars,  which  pass  him  on  tlie  road,  tell    1    n    tiiat    he    is   approaching    the  very  ccntn 
of  the  famous  Pennsylvania  coal-mines.     Be\uml   Danville  the  river  makes  a   bend  awav 
from  ihe  overhantiing  mountains   of  the    northern    side,  and    approaches   more   ck)S(  Iv  t„ 
the    southern,  which    are    far    more   densely    wooded,  and    have    consequently    many  more 
luns  hrawlinu;  and  bubbling  down  their  sides.     The  scenery  here  has  a  peculiar  charm  of 
its  own,  which  is  hard  to  describe  or   to    localize.     The    hills    on    the   northern    bank  ai 
distant,   I)ut  there  arc   foot-hills    that    come   down    to   the    river.      These    are   often   cult 
vated,  the  tiekls  of  corn  being  broken    by  dark    patches   ar   waving   pines   and    hemlock 
At  the  foot  of  these  hills  runs  the  railroad.     In  immediate   >roximity  comes  the   c.inal- 
a  quiet,  peaceable,  serviceable  ser\'ant  of  commerce,  ve.xed  wnm    few  locks.     Between  thi 
canal  and  the  river  is  only  an  artificial  dike   of  little   breadth     but   this    has  either  heir 
|)lanted  with  trees  and  bushes,  or  NTature  has  sent  her  winged    veeds   there    to   taki'  root 
to  fructifv,  and  to  render  beautiful  that  which   of  itsetf  was    but   plain    and    insignilicir 
This  dike  is  (|uite  a  feature,  impressing-    -very  eye  with  aan  idea  af  leajiness,  which    >nn 
to    be    the    prevailing   charm    of  tiie    dirtflnict.     Beyond    h    the    riv*r   some    feet    lower  ; 
level,  rushes  vigorously  on\  ard  to  join  ics  waters  with    those  of   thr  West    Branch.     1|. 
stream  is  moie  rapid,  and    its  waves   are    of  a   clearer   hue.  than    tfaat  which   glid(  -  pa.. 
Renovo,  Wiliiamsport,  and  I^u- ic    Haven.     Rising  up   from  the  southern   bank    are    wodi 
covered  mountains,  boasting  k\ytr  owk-^  and  hickories  than  we  have  seen  in  our  jjrojrr^ 
hitherto,  biu   having    a    sombre    grandeur    of  tone    from    the    nmre    numerous    evergreen- 
The  extreme  background  is  \-    .H  hy  a  >oft  haze,  through  which   th»'   river  looks  silvr 
and  the  mountains  an  ethereal  Ut'tf.      At  times  the   sweet    sylvan   character   of  th'    lain; 
scape  is  broken  by  a    nunievoi:     gang   of   workmen    drill»»H;    awav  huge    blocks   ul   Hnif. 
stone;    for  the  foot-hills  are  of   chat  structure,  though  the   mountain  -  ranges   are    of  saivi 
stone,     .\gain  we  come  to  a  roi.   'i  "ular  stone  structure,  black  as  ink,  and  surroumu 

by  rudely-arranged  scaffolding  of  ..  j«  ..mar  form.  This  is  a  coal-mine,  or  rather  all  tha 
can  be  sein  externally  of  it.  Of  inm-fumaces  there  are  manv,  and  of  rolling-mills  mon 
than  a  lew.  These  seem  at  first  like  blots  upon  the  landscape,  but  they  serve  to  divwil 
the  tnonotonous  beauty  of  the  scenery.  But  the  finest  points  to  the  artist  are  the  plan 
win  ic  the  rushing,  tumbling,  foaming  creeks  from  the  mountains  come  raging  dnwn  i 
join  the  river,  and  to  frighten  tin  canal  from  its  staid  firoprietv,  necessitating  great  ciilaiiii 
mcnts  of  the  dike  and  beautiful  bridges.  These  swellings  of  the  dike  gladden  an  .mi-i; 
eve;  lor  thev  are  often  covered  with  fine  large  trees,  and  produce  all  the  eHects  ul 
islands  hanging,  as  it  were,  over  the  brink  of  the  liver.  There  arc  several  |)laci  "^  wlw 
thesi-  bits  of  stcnerv  e.xist  at  Milllin,  .Shickshinnv,  but,  alM>ve  all,  al  llunlocks.  Iliiiv 
locks  Creek  is  not  very  long  bm  it  has  .i  commendable  breadth,  and  so  precipitous, 
course  that  it  is  more  like  a  cataract  than  a  creek;  and  its  turbulent,  shallow  stp.ir 
carries  down  bowlders  of  a  most    respectable    size.      There    is   a    coal-mine    al    Fliinlock* 


R 


-^ 


iron-resjion  ;  and  tin 
;hinji    tlie  very  i_cntn 
makes  a   hend  aw  a 
tches    more   close  K  t 
sequently    many  iiKm 
s  a  peculiar  chaiiii  oi 
le   northern    bank  art 
riiese    are   often    cult:. 
pines   and    hcmlock\ 
itv  comes  the   canal- 
;  lucks.     Between  the 
this-    has   either  been 
Is   there    to    take  root. 
»lain    and    insifrnificant 
Itajiiiess,  which    sieni- 
5:.  some    feet    lower  in 
or  West    Brancli.     It* 
:tisU:  which   glidrs  pas 
them  hank    are   wood 
e  seen  in  our  projrre* 
numerous   everfrran- 
'he    river  looks   sjlvc'- 
haracter   of  llii    lam. 
lufre    blocks    I'l   lime- 
-  ranges   are   ot  sand- 
as  ink,  and  sunounur.; 
ne,  or   rather  ail  thai 
of  rollinn-mills  im 
thev  serve  to  diver 
le  artist  arc  the  yi\< 
ome   ra^injr   dnwii 
sit  at  inn  ff^-'at  enlari.H 
ki-  irladden  an   artistic 
((     all    the    effects  of 
-.<veral    |)laces  when 
It    1 1  unlocks.     Hun- 
uul    so    precipitous  i 
dent,   shallow  stiMm 
d-niinc    at    Iliinliickv 


THE    SUSQUEHANNA. 


223 


lose  upon  the  brink  of  the  creek,  and  the  miners  down  the  shaft  can  hear  the  growling 
of  the  water-course  in  the  spring,  like  distant  thunder.  For  then  its  waters  are  swollen 
fiom  the  mountain  snows;  and  it  carries  away,  encumbered  with  its  ice -masses,  tons 
u]K)ii  tons  of  rocks,  which  go  hurtling  down  the  stream,  dashing  against  each  other,  and 
Clashing  with  as  much  noise  and  fury  as  if  an  avalanche  had  been  ])recipitated  'oy  the 
melting  of  a  glacier.      In  our  illustration  on  page  217  is  a  group  of  illustrations  of  this 


fion— the  furnace  "on  1 J  unlocks  Creek,  Nanticoke  ferr>',  Danville,  the  hemlock -gatherers, 

stone-(|uarry,  etc. 

.After  passing  Pillsbury   Knob,  a  remarkably  bold  |iromontory  on  the  northern    bank. 

tourist  arrives  at  Nanticoke,  where  the  ri\er  expands  considerably,  becoming  verv  shal- 
llere  there  is  a  dam  erected  for  the  lumberers,  though  the  business  iv  yearly  de- 
Basing  in  this  pari.     There  are  on  tin-  southern  side  broad  strctcht>-  of  feitik  land  below 

bank,  and  these  are  cultivated  with  profit —principally  Uv  the  raising  oi  hubacco. 
lie  hills  here  rise  in  three   several    nvvjj-'^    nno-i    the    northern   side    and   two    u|Mjti    the 


:i  HM    II 


mi 


1    ^'  ,>*">  ■ 


THE    SUSQUEHANNA. 


225 


I  southern,  and  the  effect  from  the  lowlands  on  a  level  with  the  river  is  very  grand.  The 
I  majority  of  the  hills  to  the  northward  are  not  well  wooded,  ami  their  j)revuiling  hue 
lis  a  dull,  purplish  brown.  To  the  south  the  mountains  are  i)etter  wooded,  but  the  slope 
lis  very  considerable  and  the  height  not  very  great.  Ik-tween  these  the  river  winds  in  a 
[serpentine  form,  creating  a  thousand  coups  d\cil  of  transcendent   loveliness.     I-'or  lure  we 


II         I 


n- 
% 


Wydmiiii;    Valley. 

ire    actually  entering    the    famous  Wvoming  X'allcv,  so    renowned    for    its    l)eauties.     The 

pills  are  not  liigli,  never  exceeding  two   thousand    feet,  but    the    banks    of   llie    river    and 

lie  liver  itself   form  such  combinations    of  form    and    color    as    kindle   (he   admiration  of 

lie  must   a|)athetic.     The    railwav  is    on    the    nortliein    banU,  which  is  tiie   more  eli'vated  ; 

»d,  as  the  hills  on  tliis  side  are  more  |iielures(|iu-  than  tlu'  other,  it  is  impossible   to  get 


!;M 


■H 


m 


i  I 


;  I 


iim 


226 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


t 


A 


ilf  w 


I  rill 


i  -^; 


the  best  view  until  the  river  is  crossed.  This  the  railway  docs  not  do;  and  it  wiil  h. 
best  for  the  tourist  to  stoj)  at  Kingston  and  cross  over  to  Wilkesbarre,  at  onec  ih, 
centre  of  the  anthracite-coal  region,  the  centre  of  tiie  Wyoming  Willey,  and  one  uf  th. 
most  charming  and  ])rosperous  towns  in  the  country. 

There  is  an  island  in  the  river  just  t)pposite  the  town,  of  which  the  bridge  takes  ad- 
vantage.    From  the  centre  of  this  there  is  a  lovely  view.     One  sees  to  the  left  the  Wyo- 
ming-Valley   Hotel,  built  in  Tudor  style  of  grav-stone,  and    forming   quite    a   i)ictiuL'S(|ii, 
feature;   beyond  it  are  all  the  houses    of  the    local    aristocracy  stretched   along   the   haul; 
for  half  a  mile.     At  this  point  the    river    makes   a    suj)erl)    curve,  like    the    flashinu   of  ,; 
silver-sided    fish,   and    disappears,    showing,  however,  through    the    trees,  broad    patcius  ui 
gleaming  white.     But  this  is  only  a  slight   glimpse.     The  real   place   for   a   striking  vitw 
is  from   Prospect  Rock,  about  two  miles  behind  the  town,  nearly  at  the  top  of  tiie  firsi 
range  of  hills  on  the  southern    side   of  the   river.      This    ])ost    of  observation    is   011  tiit 
summit  of  a  jutting   ciag,  and    from    its    picturesquely-massed    bowlders   one   can   survo 
the  whole    of  the  Wyoming  Valley,  which,  from    Nanticoke    westward    to    Pittston   east- 
ward, lies  stretchetl  before  the  eye  of  the  visitor  like  a  lovely  picture.     It  is    not    liruad: 
for,  from   Prospect  Rock  to  the  topmost    crest    of  the    first    lange  of  opposing   hills,  the 
distance,  as  the  crow  Hies,  is  not  more  tlian  four  miles,  and  the  farthest   ])eak  visible  not 
six.     liut  this  is  a   gain    rather    than    a    loss;   for    the  views    that    are    so  wide    as  to  In 
bounded    by  the    horizon  are    alwavs  saddening.      Step    by  step    the    lanilscape    leads  yoi 
beyond  the  winding  river,  and  beyond  the  swelling  plain,  to  vast  distances,  which  melt  bv 
imperceptible  gradations  into  the  gracious  sky,  and    impress   the    heari  with    a   eoinictioii 
that   just  beyond  your  powers  of  sight  is  a  better,  nobler  clime — a  lovely  land,  where 
is  beautiful.     Such  prospects  .seem  indeed  the    ladder   by  which    the    patiiarcb    saw  angils 
ascending  and    descending.     They  fdl    the    soul  with    longing   and    despairing   ex|)ectatiuii. I 
They  stir  the  depths  within  us,  and  send  tears  of  a  divine  anguish  unbidden  to  the  tviij 
It    is    not    so   with   Wyoming  Walley.     Its    narrow    l)oundaries   of  northern    hills,  lossinji 
their   crests    irregularly  like    a    billowy  sea,  steeped    in    clear,  distinct    hues    of  a    j  iiiplisiil 
brown,  and  having  ever\-    line    and   curvature   plainly    in   sight,  comjiel   the   eyes  to  rsi 
within  the  green  and  smiling  valley,  dotted  with  countless  houses,  ever  scattered  sparstl 
or  gathered  thickly  into  smiling  towns.     Through  the  points  of  brilliant  light  with  whiclij 
the  sun  lights  up  the  white  houses,  the  Susquehanna  glides   like   a   gracious   Ia(l\ -niotlur  j 
making  soft  sweej)s  here  and  noble   curves  there,  but    ever    bordered    l)y  fringes   uf  (l«'|i 
emerald  green.     The  whole  valley  is  green,  save  where  the  towns  toss  up  to  he.Ui  1  the 
towers   and    spires    from    nuinbcrless   churches,  and   where    behind,  as    if   in    hid'    •   lilaik] 
mounds  and  grimy  strAJCtures  mark  the   collieries.     The   contracted  view  gives  no     kIiicsI 
of  spirit,   stirs    no    uncpiiet    heart,  like    the    expanded    prospect.     Far   otherwise  Mil  •  soul  j 
itself  expands  with  love  and   pride  at    the   sight    of  so    much    peaceful    beauty,  so  muct: 
prosperity  and  happiness,  so  much  ])rogress.     The  beyond  is  out  of  sight,  out  of  ihouglii 


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esbarrc,  at  once  the 
Hey,  and  one   of  tlu 

the  bridge  takes  ad- 
to  the  left  the  Wyo- 
;   (luite    a   picturesqui: 
;hed    along   tlie   bank 
ke    the    ilashiiit;   of  a 
;es,  broad   patelies  of 
:   for   a   strikinii  view 
I  tlie  top  of  the  first 
ibservation    is   on  the 
ders    one    can    siuvev 
ard    to    Pittstoii   east- 
ire.     It  is    not   liruad; 
of  opposing   liiils,  the 
thcst  peak  visible  no! 
ire   so  wide   as  to  1k' 
:   landscape   leails  you 
itanees,  which  melt  by 
art  with    a   eonviction 
ovely  land,  wlicre  all 
patriarch    saw  angds 
A'spairing   expectation. 
uni)idden  to  the  evt> 
northern    hills,  tossing 
mes   of  a    lurplisk 
)el   the   eyes   to  rest 
ver  scattered  sparsdv 
,int  light  with  which 
macious   lady-mother, 
!i\'  fringes   of  (icep, 
ss  u])  to  lieAVrii  thcii 
IS    if   in    hid!'  •   tilatk 
iew  gives  no     'iliit;^ 
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Wi»STIR,NY    UStO 

(716)  173-4503 


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228 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


IKJ 


out  of  kt>n,  and  the  soul  enjoys,  witliout  any  drop  of  bitterness,  the  full  euj)  of  |hiic 
earthly  ha|)pincss.  lie  must  he  a  sordid  wretch,  indeed,  whose  pulses  are  not  stirred  at 
the  sight  hefore  him.  Too  far  to  be  vexed  with  details,  too  near  not  to  see  distinctly, 
the  gazer  on  Prospect  Rock  views  the  landscape  under  just  such  circumstances  as  will  ; 
delight  him.  Therefore,  all  who  have  stcjod  upon  these  masses  of  sandstone,  and  iiavc  ^ 
watched  the  cloud-shadows  swee])ing  over  the  broad  ])lain,  and  have  seen  the  sun  ■gu 
down  in  l)eautv,  ami  the  stillness  of  twilight  overstretching  the  happy  vailey,  have  <j;onc 
awav  with  hearts  satisfied  and  rendered  at  ease.  But  this  was  not  alwa\s  a  happy  \allev, 
and  the  time  has  been  when  this  fair  stretch  of  smiling  green  was  smoking  with  the  » 
fires  of  i)urning  homes,  and  the  green  turf  was  gory  with  the  blood  of  men  defending 
their  families  from  the  invader  and  his  savages ;  when  the  Susquehanna  shuddered  at  the 
corpses  polluting  her  stream,  and  the  mountains  echoed  back  in  horror  the  shrieks  of 
wretches  dyit'.g  in  torture  at  the  Indian's  stake.  For,  where  the  little  village  of  Wyoming 
rises  beside  the  softly-flowing  river,  the  telescope  discerns  a  plain  stone  monument  com- 
memorating the  awful  massacre  of  the  ,^'1  '"kI  4'Ii  '>f  J^'y.  1778.  The  vallcv  was 
defended  by  Colonel  Zebulon  Mut'er,  with  such  militia  as  could  he  gathered,  against  the 
attack  of  a  very  su|)erior  force  of  British,  assisted  by  a  numerous  band  of  Iroquois, 
After  the  inevitable  defeat,  which  happened  on  tlu'  _^d,  the  concpiered  retreated  into  the 
fort  with  their  women  and  children.  They  surrendered  on  the'  4th,  with  promises  of  fair  : 
terms,  and  the  British  commander,  to  his  eternal  disgrace,  gave  them  up  to  the  fieiulish  i 
savages,  who  were  his  au.xiliaries.  The'ii  followed  that  massacre  which  sent  a  thrill  ot' 
horror  tinough  the  civilized  world,  and  which  has  formed  the  subject  of  the  noiilcsi 
poems  and  the  finest  pictures.  Out  of  misery  came  bliss;  out  of  defeat,  bloodshed, 
burning  homes,  and  ca|>lured  wives  and  laughters,  came  trantpiil  happiness  and  a  matcri.il 
pro'peritv  almos;  une(|ual!ed.  The  whole  valley  is  one  vast  deposit  of  anthracite  coal, 
and  is  now  oidv  in  the  dawning  of  its  prosperity.  What  it  will  be  in  the  full  sunlight 
o!^  fortune  it  passcth  here  to  tclL 


full  tup  of  pure 
arc   not    stiiud  at 

to  sec  distinctly, 
'cumstanccs  as  will 
uidstonc,  and  Imvc 
;  seen  the  sun  pi 
'  valley,  have  jj;onc 
ays  a  happy  vallcv, 

smokinp  with   the 

of  men  defendiiip; 
la  shuddered  at  the 
ror  the  shrieks  of 
i-illafic  of  Wyoniinn 
ic  monument  com- 
V  The  valley  was 
athcrcfl,  against  the 

band    of    Irocjuois. 

retreated  into  the 
ith  promises  of  fair 

up  to  the  fiendish 
h  sent  a  thrill  ot' 
ect  of  the  nolilcst 
defeat,  bloddshed, 

ess  and  a  material 

f  anthracite  coal, 
tiic    full    sunlight 


BOSTON. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY   J.    DOUGLAS   WOODWARD. 


'  I  "HERE  was  little  of  the  "picturesque,"  to  the 
-*-      eyes  of  the    Puritan    colony  which    took    up 
its    abode    on    the    main    c6ast    where    now    stand 
Charlestown    and    Bunker    Hill,   in    the    bold,  bald, 
bleak,  triple-hilled  peninsula  which  confronted  them 
on  the  southwest.     It  is  true  that  one  effusive  Pu- 
ritan, with  peripatetic  habits,  wandcrinjj  in  the  late 
sprinsr-timc    in    the    neighbor- 
hood,   found    it    possessed    of 
"  fair    endowments,"    the    hil- 


''.^^WM***^: 


I  . 


Hreivcr    rounlnin,    IIdsIuii   (  (iiiiiiion. 


locks  "dainty,'  the  plains  "delicate  and  fair,"  and    the    streams   "clear   and    running,"  and 
■jcttinji;   most  jocundly."     Ilis    less    imagin.uive    brethren    esteemed    the    promontory  bare 


If 


230 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


f 


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'-"•/     I  ff  ; 

:':-   ^■:' 

.  '  ■            :   r? '. ',    ']i 

-■     •■■.        ■;    .'!•-    ■' 

■    ■'■  ■     1 

M      ?, 


s. 


and  drear,  even  in  the  sea- 
son of  budding  and  flower- 
ing Nature  ;  for  one  of  them 
describes  it  to  be  "a  hideous 
wilderness,  possessed  by  bar- 
barous Tndians,  very  col,| 
sickly,  rocky,  barren,  unfit 
for  culture,  and  likelv  to 
keep  the  people  miserable;." 

The  Puritans  named  it 
with  prosaic  sense,  "  Tri- 
Mountain  ;  "  the  Indians 
called  it,  with  poetic  sug- 
gestiveness,  "  Shawmut,"  or 
"  Sweet  Waters  ;  "  and  tin 
gratitude  of  its  earliest  set- 
tlers, who  came  from  old 
Boston  of  the  fens  of  Ijiir- 
lish  Lincolnshire,  christened 
their  new  abode  "  Boston. 
The  Charlestown  colonv,  likt 
the  children  ot  Israel,  suf- 
fered from  exceeding  want 
"tf  water,  and  moved  i. 
Tri  -  Mountain,  which  tlnv 
purchased  of  its  reveiemi 
owner,  Blackstone,  for  tin 
absurd  sum  of  thirty  pounds. 
because  of  the  "  sweet  wa- 
ters" which  the  IikILhi 
Shawmut  promised.  Tim- 
began  to  exist  Boston,  with 
its  teeming  memories,  if^ 
dramatic  history,  its  sicadv 
growth,  and  its  manifold  picl- 
urcs(|uc  and  romantic  aspccliv 

To  him,  however,  who 
approaches  Boston  by  the 
bay,  it  is  dillicult   to  distin- 


I 


BOSTON. 


231 


even   in   the  sea- 
dding   and    flowcr- 
c  ;  for  one  of  them 
it  to  be  "a  hideous 
,  possessed  by  liar- 
ndians,    very    cold, 
icky,    barren,    unfit 
re,    and     likely    to 
people  miserable." 
Puritans  named  it, 
jsaic     sense,     "  Tri- 
I  ;  "      the      Indians 
with    poetic    sug- 
;s,    "  Shawmut,"   or 
Waters  ; "    and    the 
of   its   earliest  set- 
lO    came    from    old 
)f  the  fens  of   l^ni;- 
colnshire,   christened 
w    abode    "  Boston," 
rlestown  colony,  like 
Jren    ot    Israel,  siif- 
m    exceeding   want 
and     moved    to 
ntain,    which    tlnv 
of     its     reverend 
Jlackstone,    for    tin 
ni  of  thirty  pound* 
f    the    "  sweet   \va- 
lich       the       Indi.Hi 
jiromised.       Tliii- 
cxist    Boston,  with 
np     memories,    il< 
itistt)ry,   its    stcadv 
ltd  its  manifoiil  pid- 
11(1  KMnantic  as|)ects. 
lim,   however,  wlm 
s     Boston    In    the 
difficult    to    distin- 


0 


guish  the  three  hills  upon  which  VVinthrop  and  his  fellow-colonists  perched  themselves. 
The  city  wears  the  appearance  of  a  single  broad  cone,  with  a  wide  base  lining  the  wa- 
ter's edge  for  miles  on  either  side,  ascending  by  a  gradual  plane  to  the  yellow-bulb  apex 
afforded  by  the  State-Mouse  dome.  Only  now  and  then  is  tiie  plane  broken  by  a  build- 
inti-  looming  above  the  rest,  and  pierced  by  the  white,  pointed  steeples  or  fanciful  modern 
towers  of  the  churches,  or  an  occasional  high,  murky,  smoke-puffmg,  brick  chimney  rising 
amid  the  jumble  of  dwellings  and  warehouses.  Boston  presents  the  singular  contradiction 
of  symmetry  in  general  outline,  and  irregularity  in  detail.  One  scarcely  imagines,  as  he 
gazes  upon  this  almost  mathematically  cone-shaped  city,  rising,  by  equal  and  slow  grada- 
tions, to  its  central  summit,  that  it  is,  of  all  places,  the  most  jagged  and  uneven;  that 
its  streets  and  squares  are  ever  at  cross-purposes ;  that  its  general  plan  is  no  plan  at  all, 
but  seemingly  the  result  of  an  engineering  comedy  of  errors  ;  that  many  of  its  thorough- 
fares run  so  crazily  that  a  man  travels  by  them  almost  around  to  the  point  whence  he 
started,  and  many  others  run  into  blank  no-thoroughfore ;  and  that,  by  no  ])rocess  of 
reasoning  from  experience  otherwhere,  can  he  who  sets  out  for  a  given  destination 
reach    it. 

The  visitor  who  reaches  Boston,  indeed,  by  water,  can  hardly  fail  to  be  struck  with 
the  natural  beauties — heightened  now  by  artificial  adornment — of  the  harbor,  narrowing, 
as  it  does,  in  even  curves  on  either  side,  dotted  with  many  turfy  and  undulating  or 
craggy  islands — long  stretches  of  beach  being  visible  almost  to  tiie  horizon,  now  and 
then  interspersed  !)y  a  jutting,  cliff-bound  promontory,  or  piisliing  out  seaward  a  strag- 
gling, shapeless  peninsula  of  green.  Almost  imperceptibly,  (be  coast  of  the  noble  bay 
vanishes  into  villages — now  upon  a  low,  now  a  lofty,  shore — which,  in  theii  turn,  merge 
as  indistinctly  into  the  thickly-.settled,  busy  suburbs,  and  tiie  city  itself  The  islands, 
which  ill  Winthrop's  day  were  bare  and  wellnigh  vcrdureless,  are  now  mostly  crowned 
with  handsome  forts,  light-houses,  hospitals,  almshouses,  and  "  farm-schools"— edifices  for 
the  most  part  striking,  and  filling  an  ap|)ropriate  place  the  varied  landscape.  Fort 
Warren  and  Fort  Independence— in  the  former  of  which  the  C\)nfedeiate  Vice-I'resident 
Stephens,  and  Generals  Ewell  and  Kershaw,  were  incarcerated — are  imposing  with  their 
liifty  ramparts,  their  yawning  casemates,  their  sharp,  symmetrical  outline  of  granite,  and 
their  regular,  deep-green  embankments.  Nearer  rise,  from  a  lofty  hill  in  South  Boston, 
the  great  white  sides  and  cupola  of  the  Perkins  Institution  for  the  Blind,  which  Dickens 
so  giajihically  described  after  his  first  visit  to  America.  To  the  right  of  tiie  State-House 
dome  looms,  distinct  and  solitary,  the  plain  granite  shaft  of  Bunker-l  lill  Monument.  Be- 
low, on  either  hand,  are  the  wharfs  and  dock'-',  crowded  with  craft  of  every  size,  shape, 
and  nationality,  from  the  little  fishing-yachts  which  are  wafting,  on  a  summer's  morning, 
ill  large  numbers  hither  and  thither  on  the  wafer,  to  the  stately  ("unarder,  whose  red 
funnel  rises  amid  the  masts  in  its  l'"ast-Boston  slip.  An  eye-glance  from  the  harbor 
t.iUes   in   nearly   the  whole   of  the    Boston   shipping.       ll   is   modest,  compared   with   the 


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BOSTON. 


233 


[forests  of  masts  and  funnels  which  cluster  alonp^  the  East  and  North  Rivers ;  but  its 
■extent  and  movernent  give  evidence  of  a  busy  and  ])rosperous  port.  The  water-view 
lof  Boston  betrays  its  industrial  as  well  as  its  commercial  character.  Large,  many-win- 
jdowed  factories,  tall,  smoke-stained  chimneys,  ajipear  at  intervals  throughout  the  stretch 
lof  thick  settlement  from  City  Point,  in  Soutli  Boston,  in  the  south,  to  tlie  limits  of 
|East   Boston  and  Chelsea,  in  the  north,  indicating  the  weaving  of  many  fabrics,  the  fruits 

jf  deft  handiwork,  and  the  transformation  of  the  metals  to  useful  purposes. 

On  its  harbor-side,  Boston  exhibits  its  trade  and  industry,  its  al)Sor])tion  in  the  busi- 
Incsses  of  life,  the  sights  and  scenes  of  engrossing  occupation.     Transferring  the  point  of 

new  from   the    eastern    to   the  western   side   of  the   city,  the   results,  instead  of  the  pro- 


<-  ^ 


Scene   in    the    Pulilic   Harden. 

cesses,  of  wealth   appear.      From  the  arch  in  the  stec|)le  of  the  Arlington-Street    Church 

[picture  No.  3],  you  gaze  upon  one  of  the  most  striking  and  noble  scenes  which  any 
Lmeriean  city  jiresents — a  scene  of   brightness,  beauty,  luxury,  adorned    by  the    elegances 

)f  horticultural,  architectural,  and  sculjitural  art,  enriched  by  the  best  effects  of  native 
Itaste,  and  gifted  i)y  Nature  with  fine  contrasts  of  elevation,  declivity,  and  outline — a 
Isceiu'  whicii  includes  all  that  of  which    Boston  is  most  jiroud  in  external  aspect.     In  the 

pnumdiate  foreground  lies  the  Public  Garden,  on  a  s-nice  redeemed,  within  a  (juartcr  of  a 
Icciitury,  from  the  waters  of  the  Back  Bay;  for,  u|)  to  that  i)eri<)d,  the  waves  reached  uj) 
lne;nly  to  the  edge  of  Charles  Street,  which  separates  the  garden  from  the  Common. 
iWlilunit  possessing  the  pretensions  of  (Vntral    Park  or  Fairmount,  the   Public  Garden  is 


i.H     1 


i'3,:/i^ 


V.I-  4 


234 


P/C rURI-SO UF.     AMERK :  I. 


t 
I 


;il     '■'    '  n 


,:}     n: 


m 

,'.  'til '  '.■' 


a   ^cni    of  a    park.      il    is    not    ci-rlaiii  thai    now,  in  its  (la\s  of  youiii!,'   ji^rowtii,  it    i--  iim 
more  lovely  tlian  it  will   Ik-  wiien   its  trees  have  i^rown  into   lealy  areiies,  and    its    einm|K 
of  siirul)s    into    opacjue    co|)ses.       Its  edyes   are  even   now  lined  with  tlnixiny;  Irei's  .ildii- 
the  iron  railings  ;    windinij  paths  le;  d  in  ainonn'  e.\(|nisite   llower-heds,  uinl)ra<i;e()iis   >-  i|||,. 
arbors  ])rovided  with  rnstic  seats,  tountains  phivinn-  i;i  niarhli'  i)asins,  statues  of  \V,i  hin^ 
ton  and   lu'erett,  and  eoniniemoratix'e  of  tiie  diseoxer,    of  anu'stiulies,  and  "  X'eiiiis  li^in^ 
from  the  Sea,"  about  whose   form   the  liyht   s|)ray  shimmers.     The  iiorders  of  the  lawn^  m, 
adorned  by  l)cautiful  eombinations  of   \ari-eoloied   and  xari-leafed    plants.      In    tin-    .  1  nn 
is    a    ])retty  serpentine,  crossed    by  a  liea\y  jj^ranite    bridge,  and    upon  whose  wateis  ilnii 
lloat  swans  and  ducks,  as  well  as  canopied   barges  and  (pieer  little  cralt,  let  to  the  pulilit 
at  moderate  prices,     ("lose  to  the  lake  is  a   prett\-  conservatory,  blooniinu'  with    liot-hdUKt. 
p'ants — the  whole  park   bein<r  enclosed  in  a  settiny  ot  spacious  sticcts  and  mansions.  |i;ii|; 
and  mansions  lendinj.;'  to  each  other  the  aspect  oi  enhanced  eleyance.     Beyond,  almost  hid. 
den  in   its  wealth  of   mature  foliaiiv,  is  tin-  ("ommon— the  old,  liistoric,  nineh-]);aise(l,  aiid 
lautihed-at    Common — risinij,  bv  a  <rraceful   ])lane,  to  the    State-House  at  its  sunmiii,  Iuk 
and  then'  interspersed  with   hillocks,  whose  sides  pci'p  through  o|H'ninus  in   tlu'  trers,  am! 
at  whose  feet  are  broad,  bare  s])aces  for  mililaiy  nian(cu\res  and  popular  out-door  L;,mi(< 
Ik-hind    the    Common   \<m  catch  ylimpses  of   the    stee|iles    and    ]iulilic    halls   of  'Irrinuiii 
I  Tri-Monntain  I   Street;    the  historic  sti'eple  of  the  <  )ld  South,  saved    by  a    miiaclc   tniiii 
the    irreat    lirCj   which    stopped    undi'r    its    very   shadow;    the    stt'cple    of    the    Park-Sinri 
Church,  onlv  less  memorable  in  tiie  annals   of   Hos  .m;   the  com|)aratively  jtlain,  old  .M,i- 
sonic   'rem])le,    now   used    as    a    Fnited    States    court-house;    and    that    noble    and    l.ni-li 
S|)ecimcn    of  Crothic    architecture,    the    pinnacled,   granite,   nv\v    Masonic    Tempk',   licli  in 
decoration,  and    risiny-    far    above    the    surrounding    edilices.      On    the    left,  the  ari<tn(.r,iiii 
Heacon    Street  -on    the    site   of  the    cow-|)astures    of   the    last    centnrv-    rises    majisticillv 
toward    the    .State-1  louse — its    buildinixs  pili'd   irreyularh-  one  aboxc  another,  of   biirk  ;imi 
brown-stoni'  and   marble,  of   niauN'  shapes  and  colors  -the  stri'ct    of  the    famil\'  and    iiion- 
cyed    "  hi<rh    society"    of   the    I  lub.      The    \\v\v    in    this    dirixtion    is    most    striking,    Tn 
him  who   has  ,t;azed,  at    Ivlinburirh,  from    Prince's   Street   aloni;-   the  hiyh,   piled-U|)   biiililini;> 
risinjr  to  ami  capped  by  the  hoarv  old  eastk',  this  scene  of  Heacon  Street,  with  tin    St.ik- 
House  at  the  to|),  vividly   resembles,  in  trcneral  outline  and  cftect,  that    most    pii  iiir(Si|iii' 
of   British    cities.      The    princi|)al    difference   is  that,  in  ])laee  of   the  hoary   keej)  aii'l  r.ini- 
l)arts,  there  is  the  biu,  yellow  dome,  with   its  uilded  cupola,  and   its  .\mcrican   llay  lln.iliiK 
from  the  to|). 

Boston  Common!  Sacred  to  th''  memory  of  I'uritan  trainin<i-days,  atid  tin-  uini!- 
natiny;  of  Puritan  cows;  to  the  e.Nccution  of  witches,  and  stern  rc])rimands  ot  Wdimii 
branded  with  Scarlet  Letters;  to  lierce  tussles  with  Indians,  and  old-time  duels;  in  iln 
intense  exhortations  of  Cicorye  Whitelield,  and  the  solemn  festivals  of  the  Purit.m  oii"- 
nists;    to  struuf^des  with    British  troops,  and    the    hanuinii    in    efhixy  of   red-coat   loi's;  w\ 


nOSTON. 


235 


rowtli,  it   is  udt 
and    its    tiiini|n 
viiiff  trees  Au\\u 
il)ni<re()iis   ^,  'uii. 
.R'S  of  NVa^liiii;;- 
(I  "  \'rnus  mwi 
1)1'  llu'  lawns  ail 
In    I  lie    (riiln 
lose  waters  ihci,. 
let    tc  the  imlilk 
;■    with     lint-liiiiiH 
(1  mansion'-,  park 
Nond,  alinosi  hid- 
nnch-praisi'd,  aiiil 
its  suniniii,  Iuk 
in  the  trei's,  aiiii 
■  (lut-door  L;anu< 
Kills    (.f   'rrtiiiiiiii 
•  a    niiracif   iVnni 
the     Park-Snvil 
l\'  ])lain,  eld  M.i- 
nulile    and    lavish 
i'l-mple,   licii  in 
the  arisincraiit 
ses    maji'siicallv 
r,  of   liiii  k  ami 
unily  and    iiiini- 
St    slrikinu.    'in 
c'(l-u|)  liiiiiiiini;- 
t,  with   tin-  Stall- 
Host    iiii.lurcsqiH' 
keep  and  ram- 
can   llau  lli>aliii;.' 

■s,  and  tlir  iiiiii!- 
lands  of  Wdimii 
u'  duels :  111  till' 
ir  Puritan  cdi"- 
d-coat   toes;  w\ 


ris 


less  to  the  memory  of  thousands  of  lovers,  dead  and  f^oni',  from  the  time  when  it  was 
the  favored  retreat  "where  the  (lallants,  a  little  hefore  sunset,  walk  with  their  iMarmalet- 
Madanis,  till  the  liell,  at  nine  u'elock,  riutrs  them  home!"  A  "small  hut  pleasant  com- 
mon I"  says  old  josselyn,  who  saw  it  with  his  critical  I'^nglish  eye,  tresh  from  Hyde  Park, 
jn-t  about    two   centuries  a.^o.     A  small,  perhaps,  and  certainly  pleasant  common,  still,  it 


01(1    VA\\\,    lio.sUiii    Common. 

lis  in  these  later  days.  Indeed,  for  more  than  two  centuries  the  Common  has  been  the 
jlimu  (it  the  town  and  eitv,  the  most  central  and  the  most  airreeahle  of  its  open-air  re- 
ISdils,  at  once  the  promenade  for  urown  people,  and  the  play-jjround  and  coastintr-tryst 
[ol  the  children.  Occupying  a  space  of  nearly  fifty  acres,  there  has  lieen  room  enough 
[fcH  all;  and,  while  the  Common  was  long  the  outer  western  edge  of  the  city,  it  is  fast 
{bediming  its  centre,  as  the  spacious  streets  and  scjuares  of  stately  brown-stone  and  swell- 


''  !:■ 


•    V. 


i  • 


m 


\\m'^ 


m 


V.  i 


i 

-  i 


''mm 


236 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


front  mansions  are  gradually  stretching  out  upon  the  constantly-increasing   "made   land 
of  the   liack   Bay.     The  beauty  of  the  natural  position  of  the  Common,  and  the  richness 
of  its  soil,  have    required    bu*^   little  art  to  make  it  a  charming    park,  gifted  with    all  tht 
variety  and   pleasant   prospect  worthy  of  a  great  and  thriving  city.      It  swce|)s  d(  wu  tin 
slope  of  the  hill  on  the  edge  of  which  is   Beacon  Street,  and  at  the  summit  of  wiiich  i- 
the  State-IIousc — broken,  now  and  then,  by  undulations  crowned    by  trees   and   carpcu,! 
with  softest  turf — until  it  reaches  a  lowest   limit   at    Boylston    Stiect,  on   the  south.     i|. 
foliage  no  efforts  of  artistic    cultivation    can    anywhere    surpass.      Many  of  the    tree-  an 
centuries  old.      The  noble  rows  of  elms  which,  on    the   Great    Mall    running   just    hrluw 
and  parallel  with   Beacon  Street,  rise  to  a  stately  height,  and,  i)ending   toward  each  oihc 
on  either  side,  form  a  grar.cl,  natural,  arched  cathedral-nave,  were  plained  one  hunch  id  aiii; 
hftv  years  ago;  while  those  t)f  the   I  ittle  Mall,  running  at  riglu  angles  to  tlu    irst,  win 
set  out  by  Colonel  Paddock,  rather  more  than  a  century  ago.      These  are  the  twn  niaii: 
avenues.      Tne    thick,  cool    shade    is    gratefully  resorted    to    in    summer;   seats  are  ran'jn: 
along  for    .ublic  use;   here  Punch   revels    in    his    quarrelsome  stpieak  ;   and  candy-vcndtT^ 
and    lung-testers,  and    blind    organ-grinders,  and    patent-medicine    me:-    ply   their   oiit-dno' 
trades;  and  here  the  "gallants"  still  walk,  as  of  yore,  with  their  "madams"  iii  the  sknvh- 
deepening  twilight  and  the  soft,  moonlit  nights.      The  Common  is  ip'ersecteci  by  a  ma/i 
of   irregular,  shaded   a.enues,   its   foliage    being  sprrad   tliickl\'  over  the   larger  portion  oi 
ts    surface;   while    its   expanses    of   lawn,  ke|)t   with    assiduous    pains,  are  as  velvet v  uii; 
bright    green    as    those    of    the    Ixt.isti'd     London    |>arks.      On    every    hand,  the    Coniniin 
betrays  evidences   and    memorials  of  its  veui  rable  age  and   its  teeiuiiig  history,  as  well  i» 
of  the  tender  care  with  wliicii  it  is  maintained  by  modem   Boston.      In  one  conur  ism 
ancient  graveyard,  with    hoary  tombstones,  on  which  the  inscri|)tioiis  aie  half  effaced,  aiw 
which  here  and  there  lean  over,  as  if  at  last  weary  of  celebrating,  to  indifferent  ev<s,  tk 
virtues  of  the  forgotten  dead;   and  with  embedded  vaults,  whose  jiadloeks  are  rusted,  ami 
whose  roofs  are  overgrown  with   grass   and   moss,     just   behind   the  graveyard  is  a  small 
encaged   deer-j)ark,  where    the   nimble   and   graeefui   denizens  of  the   forest  graze,  or  sicqi 
or  eat,  mild  and   .ame,  and  ap|)areiuly   indilferent   to   the  gaze  of   the    curious   pa^scrs-liv 
who  linger  a  momeiu   at   the  grating  to  watch  their  movements     Near  the  centre  of  ilii  1 
Common    is    the   "  l-'rog-l  ond,"   a    much-abused    iiut    pretiv   bit   of   water,  provided  with  J : 
fountain   and   a  granite   lining,  situated    just    at    the    foot    o!    one    of   liu'    umbrageniis  I 
locks,    and    always    a    pet    resort    for    the    children,    who,    in    summer,    sail    thi'ir    niiniatim  I 
\aclits  and  frigates  on  its  clear  waters,  and.  in  winter,  skate  on  its  glossy  surface.     Ihirii 
by  the  lMog-|*ond  is  the  still   proud  "  (Ireat   i^hr.,"  a  wonde-  of   Nature,  aiul  a  l.ii.dMuiLl 
of  history.      For    more    than   two  centuries   its   immense  trink  and  wide-sp.eadini;   linil 
have  I  -en  the  adtniiation  and   the  shelter  of   Bostonians,      An    iron    tailing    presi  rvib 
from  rude  abuse;   an  insciiption  tells  of  its  venerabU-  but  unknown  age,  its  histciic  si|!| 
nilieance,  and  perils  bv  wind  and  storm.      It   is  jagged  and  s'-.ir,  but  still  stands  viu'i'MM 


easing   "  made   land" 

ion,  and  the  richness 

,  gifted  with    ;tll  the 

It  s\vec|)s  d(  'All  the 

summit  of  wiiich  is 

^'  trees    and    earpcted 

,  on   the  soiitli.     Its 

my  of  the    trees  arc 

rmining    just    iiciow 

ig   toward  eaeli  other 

ted  one  hundred  and 

jles  to  the    irst,  were 

^se  are  the  two  main  | 

ner ;    seiits  are  ranircij 

:  ;    and  eandy-vinden;, 

•■    ply   their    out-door  I 

idams"  ill  liie  slowlv. 

•.xersecteii  hy  a  ma/c 

llie   larger   portion  ol 

,s,  are   as  velvttv  and 

•    hand,  the    ("(ininion 

iig  history,  as  well  as] 

In  one  eorner  is  m 

are  lialf  effaeed,  anJ 

indifferent  evs,  tk 

)eks  are  rusted,  and 

laveyiird  is  a  small 

nest  graze,  or  sliep 

eiiiious    pa^si'rs-hy 

ar  the  eentie  of  thi 

n ,  provided  with  J 

h(     umlnageniis  liil- 

sail    their   miniature 

ossv  si.rfaee.      ll.ird 

me.  and  a  lai.dni.irk 

wide-sp.eadin^   linil!> 

railing    preserves  il  | 

age,  its  historic  sij!' 

still  stands  vigorous  i 


h   , 


I— lli>*  "''>'V'''>'"" » '  ^' " TJi^ijV ">-'^; ^ 


BOSTON    8L:l<:NEi». 


m 


l-'- 
^  t 


J 


4\\ 


'l!H 


rii 


.    "i 


238 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


and  hale,  with  its  circumference  of  nearly  twenty-two  feet,  and  its  more  than  seventy  feet 
of  heijrlit ;  wiiile  tiie  S|)read  of  its  branches  extends  across  eijjhty-six  feet.  Near  i)\  the 
Park-Street  Mail  stands  the  nohle  fountain  j^iven  to  the  Common  by  (iardner  iinwei 
and  ap'proiiriateiy  called,  after  him,  the  "Brewer  Fountain."  It  is  an  e.\(iuisite  pi.nluet 
of  Parisian  art,  with  a  lower  larye  ami  uijper  small  basin,  the  water  jettintj  from  a  to|i. 
most  knoi)  and  throuiili  sjjouts  in  both  basins,  half  veilintj  the  bronze  lijrures  of  old 
Xeptune  and  Amphilrite,  of  Acis  and  Clalatea,  which  sit  in  |)icti'resi|ue  ])osture  bcncith 
The  fountain  stands  amid  a  cluster  of  noble  elms;  and  above  it  rises  the  narrow  ami 
|)ointed  s|)ire  of  the  I'ark-Street  Church.  .\t  the  lower  or  west  side  of  the  Comnidii  i^ 
a  broad,  bare  space,  where  reviews  are  held,  and  bast'-ball  yames  are  playeil,  the  hiilnckv 
above  eonxertinij;  it  into  a  hall"  ami)hitheatre,  and  affordiny  a  line  stand-])oint  wluiuc  to 
view  the  displays  and  sports. 

LeaviuL;  the  Common,  and  passinij  alony  Heacon  Street  and  bv  the  i'ubli.  ('mn- 
moil,  you  reach  the  (piarter  of  elegance  and  luxur\-  and  hnish  tasti'  which  ha.i  spiun^ 
up  iiitirely  within  twenty  years,  and  is  known  as  the  "Back  \\,\\"  PenetratiuLi  ili; 
(juarter,  vou  h;ee  (]uile  lost  sifrht  of  all  that  is  old,  staid,  and  historic,  about  the  Puiii.i;, 
ea|)ital.  The  aspect  bespeaks  forifctfulness  of  the  past;  it  symbolizes  Boston  in  its  prev- 
ent and  hiture  |)rosperity  ;  it  tells  tiie  storv  of  wiiat  fruit,  in  lioniestic  luxury  and  aielii 
tectural  display,  persistent    thrift    in    commerce,  and    the    busy  com|)etition    in    the    aclivi 


Kill" 


walks  of   life,  brinn'  forth   in  these  latter  days.      The    Back    Bay  is  stately,  without    I 
ciieerless;    it   is  new,  and  not  <rlarinij ;    it    is   modi  in    and    ornanuntai,  yet    the    siiiistant 
New-i".ni,daiid  character  is  impressed  upon  its  linn,  solid,  yet    {graceful    iilocks,  and   I 
air\'  sliii'ts  and  siiuares, 


Ml );.(!, 


It  Stretches  from  Beacon  Street,  on  If.e  one  side,  southw.ird 
nearlv  two  miles,  almost  to  the  limits  of  what  once  was  Roxbury  ;  and  here  a  vast  aie.i 
of  residences-  all  of  the  better  sort,  and  rantiinir  from  pretty,  temptinj>;  rows  of  liriik 
"swell-fronts"  of  two  stories  and    I'rench  roof  for  the  lamilv  <>f  moderate  means,  to  Hie;it. 


sipiare,   and    richlv-adorned    pal. ices   of   browii-si 


one 


has 


been    built    in   wide    streif^ 


ami 


■ider,    tne-lined    avenues,    with    now    and    then    a    statue 


an( 


I    ofiiner    a    church 


modern,  sIk  wv  Ciothic  or  l-'lemish  style.      Mansard    is    tin'    tutelar   architectural   saint   d 
till'   whole   (piarler. 

.\  sudden  contr.isi  is  it  to  turn  off  from  the  viiw  of  this  reallv  splendid  ami  lnill- 
iani  ipiarli'r  into  cosiy,  uinbrajj:eous  Charles  Street,  famous  as  tin-  lesidence  of  I  b  line- 
.\ndiew,  and  l-'ieids,  |o  pass  up  through  the  sedate  repose  and  dijfnitied  presi'me  nl  tin 
"Beacon-ilill"  disiriet.  Here,  in  Mount -X'ernon  Street,  and  C'lesliuit  Street,  and  I  mii'- 
bur^i  S(iuari',  is  the  oldi-r  aristocratic  <piarter,  east  into  a  majestic  shade  by  its  pli  diiM,i 
of  ancient  elms,  notable  for  its  tall  "swell-fronts,"  witli  neat,  small  ^aniens  in  fioin.  ami 
carriageways  up  to  the  sombre  doors.  Manv  of  the  staid  old  families  the  "  liiuii  u- 
spectabilitics"  continue  hen',  disdaininjf  the  temptations  of  the  bri|L>litir  and  m<iie  ^li(i\n 
sphere  of  the   Bat  k    Ba\. 


c  than  seventy  feet 
feet.  Near  In  the 
)y  (iaidner  IJuwei. 
1  c.\(iiiisite  pi'idiici 
jettinij  from  a  to|)- 
onze  liyiires  of  old 
lie  ])()St'ire  l)ciK'atli. 
ises  tlie  narrow  and 
of  the  Coniiiiiiii  is 
|ila\eil,  tlic  liilldL'ks 
nd-pcint  wluaice  to 

ly  the   Piibh^  ("oni- 

whieh    ha.,   s|muih; 

Penetratint;   tliij 

■,  al)oiil   tlie   I'uiila:i 

lioston   in  its  |iri's- 

ic  luxury  and  aniii- 

ition    in    tiie    activi 

ili'l\-,  w'lhout    luiiiji 

yet    tlie    suiistantial 

blocks,  and  lirii;.d, 

)ne   sicU',  souiliward 

d  here  a  \asi  an.i 

liny    rows  of  I  nick 

all"  means,  lo  i^nat, 

wide    slretl--,  am! 

a    ehnreli    nf    tin 

lili'elural    saint   d 

splendid  and  Inill- 
sidenee  of  1  h  Inn- 
ed    presence  dl   I  In 

Street,  and  I  niii-.- 
de  liy  its  pli  llini.i 
rdens   in   fioiii.  and 

ies     the  "  liiuli   "'• 

I   and  more  sli(i\v> 


V' 


tV; 


240 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


'■(;      ;ii8  ' 


li|! 


\'< 


<  -ii 


A\ 


■  ■  i 


Out  of  this  slcepily-traiKjuil  noighl)orliood,  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  hill,  vnu 
suddenly  come  upon  the  hustle  and  clatter,  tiie  wide-awake  world  of  trade  and  shoppiniT. 
The  tide  of  business  is  cauf)ht  at  Tremont  Street,  to  rise  into  a  rushing,  half-pcni-iin 
torrent  on  ancient  Newbury,  now  Washington  Street.  And  now  you  arc  in  the  midst 
of  business,  official,  and  historic  Boston.  In  Boston,  above  all  American  cities,  the 
ciiarm  of  natural  situation,  and  the  painstaking  of  generously-patronized  art,  are  enhanced 
by  historic  associations  which  will  surely  find  a  place  in  the  great  American  epic  of  the 
future.  In  (hat  part  of  it  which  lies  between  Tremont  Street  and  the  water  are  most 
of  the  memorable  spots  and  edifices  around  which  clings  the  aroma  of  jiast  heroic  deeds 
and  noteworthy  scenes.  Here,  too,  are  the  buildings  used  for  public  |)urposcs  and  the 
assemblages  of  the  citizens  —  passing  down  School  Street,  the  high,  granite  Citv-llall. 
with  its  half-dome  of  the  Louvre  type,  its  singular  complexity  of  architectural  design,  its 
i)road  esplanade  adorned  by  the  bronze  statue  of  Franklin,  and  its  appearance  of  busy 
al)Sor|)tion  in  munici])al  affairs ;  near  by  it  is  the  historic,  Saxon-towered  King's  Chapel, 
with  the  graveyard  ensconced  in  the  midst  of  the   living  bustle ;   and  o])|)osite   the   lower 


";{  V'C^'^.'IZ. 


ilosinn    IlighUntti. 


BOSTON. 


241 


Jamaica   Plains,   from    Hovleslon. 


end      of     the      street 
stf.ncl.s   the    yet   more 
historie     Old      South 
Church,      staid      and 
plain,  whieh    Ikirtroyne   turned  into  a  ridinfj-sehool  for 
the    British   soldiery,  after    usinji   the    pulpit    and    pews 
to   li^ht   tires,  where   Whitefield    ])reaelied   and    Frank- 
lin worshi]iped,  and,  since  the  fireat  lire  of   1S72,  serv- 
liiii,'   the    purpose   of  the   |)ost-olTice ;   and  just    around   the  corner  from  the  Old  South  is 
the  site  of  the  house  wherein   IVanklin  was  horn. 

The  historic  relics  (jf  old  Boston — st)me  of  which,  to  he  sure,  have  passed  out  of 
existence,  swe|)t  awav  hy  tlie  exigencies  of  modern  convenience — are  to  he  found  scat- 
tend  over  the  northern  and  eastern  end  of  the  ])eninsula  ;  hut  the  tortuous  repion 
ii\(  hided  lietween  the  head  of  State  Street  and  the  northern  limit  is  perhaps  the  most 
tliiiklv  studded  with  memorahle  spots  and  ancient  mementos.  .\t  the  head  itself  of 
Siiitc  Street,  in  the  middle  of  the  tlioroujrhfare,  siands  the  o)d  State-I louse,  a  jjrave  old 
pile,  with  a  helfry,  lookinjj;  down  pravely  upon  the  haunts  of  the  moncy-chanfiers  and 
"solid  men,"  for  whom  State  Street  is  the  centre  and  nucleus,  and  now  jjiven  u|>  to 
tailors'  shops,  telej^raph  and  insurance  olTices,  lawyers'  chambers,  and  the  Merchants' 
Ke;i<lin)r-room.  Passing  from  State  Street  thrt)U^h  a  narrow  lane,  you  come  upon  the 
niosi  iiotahle  of  Boston  eililices,  standing  in  a  somewhat  narrow  s(piare,  surrounded  l>v  a 
constant  and  hurried  hustle  of  trade,  liul  preserving  still  the  arcliilectural,  and,  in  a 
niiiisure,  the  useful  features  of  a  century  and  more  ajfo.  iNuieuil  Hall,  huilt  and  pre- 
sented   to    Boston    hy    I'eter    Faneuil    as   "a    lown-hall    anil   marketplace,"  is  a  lown-hall 


r\ 


242 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


^m 


V\ 


.,4 


and  markct-placc  still.  It  is  a  large,  rather  square,  thoroughly  old-fashioned  huildinfr 
with  three  stories  of  arched  windows,  surmounted  by  a  cupola,  which  is  all  too  diniimi. 
tive  in  comparison  with  the  rest  of  the  structure.  On  the  grountl-floor  is  the  niaikit 
which  ovcriiows  on  cither  side  upon  the  pavements  ;  the  S'^xond  floor  is  ilevoted  tu  t)n 
great  jiuhlic  meeting-hall,  with  galleries  on  three  sides,  a  large  platform  oj^posiic  tlx 
entrance-doors,  and,  over  the  platform,  the  large  and  imposing  picture,  by  Ilealy,  a|ii(. 
senting  the  United  States  Senate  in  session,  and  Webster,  on  his  feet,  makiiiir  ih 
memorable  rejjly  to  Mayne.  The  walls  are  studded  here  and  there  with  portraits  i,; 
busts  of  eminent  men,  old  (Governors,  and  other  Massachusetts  \vorthies,  among  which 
mav  be  recognized  Faneuil  himself,  the  three  Adamses,  Hancock,  Gore,  Sumner,  l.i. 
coin,  and  Andrew.  Here  are  held  all  sorts  of  political  and  other  meetings,  oraiidn- 
campaign-rallies,  and  general  conferences  of  the  citizens.  The  reader  need  scarciK  k 
informed  that  it  was  in  Faneuil  Hall  that  the  citizens  of  Boston  were  aroused  to  usi-i- 
ance  against  the  Britisii,  and  that  many  of  the  most  memorable  scenes  in  the  cailin 
stage  of  the  Revolution  took  |ilacc  there. 

Proceeding  from  this   historic    ijuarter    southward  by  Tremont  Street,  and  alono   tin 
Common,  one  reaches,  first,  the    ornate    and    imposing    Masonic  Temple,  with  its   aain: 
windows  and    lofty  pinnacles;   and,  just  beyond,  is  the  stately,  sombre-colored,  sulistant!; 
Public    Librarv.     .Vt   this  point  all   the    jjrincipal    public    buildings    arc    left  behind,  and 
newer   Boston  is  approachetl.     Those  who  are  not  yet  beyond  the  climacteric   of  ai^f  1 
remember    when    the    space    which    separated    thickly-settled   Boston    from    the  subiiih    : 
Ro.xbury  was  i)ut   a  narrow  neck  of  laud,  which  in  some  places  almost  converted   Hom  : 
into    an    island,  and    whereon    were   but   a    few    scattered    wooden  houses.     Now,  liuwiw 
this  part  of  the  |)eninsul:i  is  as  fully  occupied  as  its   more    ancient  (piarter,  but   in  a  w: 
different  style  of  streets  and  iiuildings.     The  narrow    neck    of   land    has  been  widciKil 
the  filling  in  of  new  land,  and   now   constitutes  a    wide,  well-built  reach  between   Ho-i 
and   Ro.xbury.     The   whole   (|uarter   is  called    the   "  .South    ICnd."     The   main   thoroiiiflil.i 
Washington  Street,  is,  unlike  its  asjiect  in    the  west,  wide,  straight,  spacious,  ■■mbriLrn 
adorned  with  many  handsome  buildings,   marble  hotels,  the  great  new  Catholic  catluili 
and    Idiig    lines    of   bright    and    tempting   stores.     The    s(]uares   and   streets  are    remil.i 
built,  and,  but    for    the    long    blocks    of   houses   constructed    exactly   alike,  which   ixw 
monotonous  appearance,  the   "  South    luid  "    might    well    bear    comparison    for    its   Ik.u: 
with  the  handsomest  quarters  of  other  cities.     The  "South   End"  has,  however,  plenty 
light,  air,  and  elbow-room. 

riu'  suburbs  of  Boston  have  been  well  compared  to  those  of  Paris;  and  Bidokline 
especially,  has  been  called  the  Montreuil  of  America.  The  amphitheatre  of  the  hills,  in 
which  the  peninsula  is  set  as  in  a  frame,  is  almost  circular ;  these  eminences  an  iinilu- 
lating,  rising  now  into  cones,  now  into  broad  rotundity,  broken  here  and  there  by  jaj;).*! 
cliffs  and  abrupt  descents,  dipping  deep    into   leafy    valleys,  and    then    sloping    off  almn':t 


BOSTON. 


243 


)lcl-fashioned  building, 
ich  is  all  too  diniinii- 
ul-floor  is  the  market. 
3or  is  devoted  lu  the 
platform  oj^posite  the 
ture,  by   Mealy,  reprc- 

his  feet,  makinir  the 
here  with  portraits  of 
v'orthies,  amonsj  which 
,  Gore,  Sunnier,  Lin- 
ler  meetings,  orations 
:ader  need  scareelv  be 
were  aroused  to  resist- 

scenes    in    the   eariier 

Street,  and  aloiisr  the 

emple,  with  its  arched 

ibre-colored,  sulistantial  I 

are    left  behind,  ami  3  j 

climacteric   of  aire  can 

from   the  sul)iirb  m 

nost  converted   Boston 

)uses.     Now,  iidwcver 

(|uarter,  but  in  a  ven 

has  been  widened  bv 

reach  between   Boston 

he   main    tliorou^dilare, 

spacious,  ••mhraircous, 

w  Catholic  catiicdral, 

streets  are    re<ruiarh 

alike,  whieii    i\\<  3 

\rison    for   its   iicautv 

IS,  however,  plenty  nt 

I'aris;  and  nni()i<line 
leatre  of  the  hills,  in 
eminences  arc  iiniiu- 
and  there  by  iam.mi 
n    sloping    off  almost 


y 


imperceptibly   to   wide,  flat, 
fertile    plains.      Nature    has 
endowed     this    surrounding 
series   of  hills  with  all  that 
could    beautify    and     make 
picturesque ;  it  is  not  a  sin- 
gle circle,  but  many  circles, 
of   uneven    elevations,    one 
without     the     other ;      and, 
from   many    of   the    farther 
summits,  the   city,  with  the 
yellow  dome   and  glittering 
j  cupola  of  the   State-House 
lat   its    apex,    may    be    seen 
thr()Uc;hout    its   extent,    cn- 
;  closed     in     a      magnificent 
[framework  of  the  foliage  of 
I  the    hills    which     intervene. 
I  Especially    striking    is    the 
[view   of  the   city,  thus   en- 
closed,   from    Mount    War- 
ren,   where      the     General, 
[Warren,    is    buried.    Mount 
Ho|)e,  Mount  Dearborn,  and 
Mount  Howdoin,  the   latter 
(of  which   eminences  stands 
just  south  of  the  old  town 
(of  Roxbury  [picture  No.  7]. 
Upon  the  groundwork  thus 
pnnided  by  Nature,  all  that 
[in    modern    art    and    taste, 
[and  in  generous  expenditure, 
[could   conduce   to   elegance 
[and    luxury    of  as]ect,   and 
[coinlort    of    residence,    has 
been     added    to    the    land- 
[scape.    Almost  all  the  Bos- 
rton  suburbs   are   fairly  bed- 
[ded    in    rich    foliage,    much 


'  Ml 


-r-^JTKr-^^T^'i^'rS'  f^ ■- 


"V^'  ,;■.  'V-    -r^-T  *^'^*  . 


-.1  it? 


i- 


nil  ' 


¥ 


'1  ■■ 


>   ■' 


1 


244 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


of  it  comprising  the  old  forest-trccs,  and  much  also  due  to  the  careful  cultivation  of  suc- 
ceeding generations.  Perhaps  nowhere  in  America  are  the  English  arts  of  lawn  and 
hedge  culture,  of  garden  decoration,  more  nearly  imitated,  or  more  successfully.  Tin  re  i- 
the  greatest  variety  in  exterior  adornment,  as  there  is  in  architectural  design.  In  tlii 
midst  of  large  areas  of  lawn  and  copse,  the  square,  compact,  little-ornamented,  s!(i|iini;. 
roofed  mansions  of  a  century  ago  are  followed  by  imposing,  newly-constructed  mansion^, 
with  fanciful  iMcnch  roofs  and  towers,  an  ami)litude  of  verandas,  and  the  protulnraiiu 
on  all  sides  of  jutting  hay-windows.  In  some  of  the  suburbs  are  estates  which  would  |,ir 
from  shame  an  linglish  duke  who  dated  from  the  Contjucst ;  with  their  roods  of  ludi;! 
lining  the  roads,  their  broatl  avenues,  winding  through  ravishing  prospects  for  half  a  nii^ 
before  reaching  the  mansion,  their  large  conservatories  and  cottages,  their  close-cut  ter- 
races, and  their  gardens  abloom,  in  the  season,  with  rare  (lowers  and  a  wealth  of  uiitivi 
shrubbery.  Any  of  the  suburbs  inay  be  reached  by  rail  from  the  centre  of  tlu'  tiiv 
within  half  an  hour,  and  most  of  them  in  half  that  time ;  and  here  the  heads  (if  old 
families  and  the  "merchant-princes"  delight  to  vie  with  each  other  in  the  beauty  and  uiim- 
meiit  of  tiieir  home-surroundings.  The  suburbs  of  Dorchester,  which  overlooks  the  liar 
bor,  and  of  Roxbury,  next  west  from  Dorchester,  both  of  which  are  now  included  wiihir 
the  citv  lioundary,  occupy  the  higher  elevations  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Hostmi,  ami 
although  so  near,  afford  many  retreats  where  one  may  easily  imagine  himself  in  ili 
depths  of  the  country,  lioth  are  built  on  the  sides  and  summits  of  rather  jagg'd  an: 
irregular  hills  ;  and,  if  we  once  more  compare  Moston  with  Edinburgh,  and  tiie  Siiu- 
House  to  Auld  Reekie  Castle,  it  may  be  said  that  Roxbury  well  re|)resents  (  aliim 
\\\\\.  It  is  the  most  thickly  settled  of  the  southern  suburbs,  and  has  a  pretty  ami  Ihm 
business  sfjuare;  advancing  beyond  this,  you  walk  along  shady  streets,  taking  sudden  turn 
up-hill,  or  plunging  downward  with  an  easy  or  sharp  descent. 

Ne.xt  bevond  the  eminences  of  Ro.xbury,  the  almost  Hat  expanse  of  Jamaica  Plain? 
is  reached.  But  the  beauty  of  the  plain,  lying  eoseyly  and  shadily  among  a  eirck"  of 
hills,  with  pretty  streams  flowing  through  it,  with  a  grateful  variety  of  home-like  resi- 
dences, wide,  airy,  and  tree-lined  streets,  and  a  snug  a|i])earance  which  is  eveii  iiKire  per- 
ceptible here  than  upon  the  heights,  is  not  less  attractive  than  the  more  lofty  suburbs. 
Many  a  (piiet,  rural  nook,  where  the  idler  may  sprawl  u|)()n  the  yielding  turf,  and  angle, 
meditate,  or  read,  forgetful  of  the  nearness  of  the  big,  bustling  meti"0])olis,  or  even  of 
the  more  contiguous  suburban    settlement,  may    be    found    just  aside  from  the  vilkiijc  of 


amaiea 


P 


ams. 


The  most  attractive  spot  in  this  suburb  is  a  placid  lake,  lying  between  the  |)lain  on 
one  side  and  sloj)ing  hills  on  the  other,  fringed  with  overhanging  foliage,  broken  licie  and 
there  by  well-trimmed  lawns,  which  stretch  down  from  pieturesciue  cottages  or  uld-iash- 
ioncd  mansions  to  the  water's  edge,  with  now  and  then  a  bit  of  sandy  beach.  Ileic  take 
place,  in   summer,  suburban    regattas  and    much   boat-rowing,  while,   in   winter,  "J.imaica 


cultivation  of  sue-  ? 
arts  of  lawn  and 
cessfully.  Tlific  is 
al  design.  In  tk 
namcntcd,  sloping. 
istructed  mansion?, 
d  the  protuberance 
2S  which  would  far 
eir  roods  of  htdgf  i 
;cts  for  half  a  mile 
their  close-cut  tcr- 
I   wealth    of  native 

centre  of  tlie  citv 
e  the  heads  of  old 
■  l)eai'ty  and  iviine- 

overlooks  the  liar- 
[)\v  included  wiihin 
ity  of  Boston,  am! 
ne  himself  in  thi 
r  rather  jayu-'d  and  ^ 
rh,  and   the   State-  i 

rt'prescnts  Caltoii 

a  |)retty  and  husv  9, 
iking  sudden  tiiin 

i)f  Jamaica  i'iaiii!;  | 
among  a  circle  of 
\(  home-like  rti 

IS    eVCIi    mn\V   |HT- 

lore   loftv  suhuiiis. 
turf,  and  aiiLjle 
)olis,  or    eviM  i' 
iin  the  village  ul 

veen  the  plain  on 
broken  lit  re  and 
tages  or  old-fash- 
)cach.  lleic  take 
winter,  "Jamaica 


11 : 


i  i 


t...vVi,^\4^T  .A.s\.>^  .V.V^\>. 


BOSTON     SUUUHBS 


K'^ 


k  M 


*  t. 


246 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


% 


H 


Pond "  is  a  pet  resort  for 
Boston  skaters.  Just  be- 
yond the  Pond,  the  lo\ilicst 
of  Boston  suburbs,  Hrocik- 
line,  is  reached.  Brooklinc 
on  its  southern  side,  eom- 
prises  a  scries  of  beautiful 
highlands,  occupied  almo:^t 
exclusively  by  large,  liand- 
some  mansions,  in  the  niid'-i 
of  spacious  and  picturcs(|U(.- 
ly- wooded  parks.  It  is  i 
snug,  highly-cultivated,  liunu- 
like  environ,  the  favored  re- 
treat of  the  Winthrojis,  tin 
Lawrences,  the  SargeaiU:^ 
and  other  of  the  older  ani; 
wealthier  Boston  faniilio 
Its  streets  are  broad,  and 
wind  in  and  out  under  ilm^ 
maples,  and  chestnuts,  niv- 
seating  changing  aspects  ul 
elegance  and  luxur\-  at  ev- 
ery turn,  charming  bits  ot 
landscape  suddenly  a|i|icai- 
ing  between  the  trees,  and 
lordly  residences  of  brown- 
stone,  brick,  granite,  an! 
wood,  disclosing  thenisehc- 
at  the  end  of  arched  ave- 
nues, and  on  the  summit  ol 
graceful  eminences.  Somt- 
times  broad  lawns  sutcj 
down  the  hill-sides  to  cic.ul 
walls  facing  the  si  reels: 
sometimes  only  the  cuiwlas 
and  turrets  of  the  mansions 
peej)  above  the  thick  t(i|)ses. 
It  is   hard    to   conceive  am 


BOSTON. 


247 


is    a   pet   resort   for 
skaters.      Just    be- 
a  Pond,  the  loveliest 
on    suburbs,    Brook- 
reached.      liro()l<liin,', 
southern    side,   com- 
scries    of    beautiful 
Is,    occupied     almost 
cly    by    large,    hand- 
ansions,  in  the  midst 
ous  and  picturesque- 
ded    parks.      It   is  a 
^rhly-cultivated,  lu)me- 
,'iron,  the  favored  re- 
the   Winthrops,  the 
ces,     the     Sariieants 
ler    of  the    older  and 
>r     Boston      families. 
eets    are    broatl,   and 
I  and  out  untler  elms 
I  and    chestnuts,  ])re- 
changing  aspects  uf 
and    lu.Kury    at  ev- 
n,   charming    hits  of 
le    suddenly    aitpear- 
ween    the    trees,  and 
esidenccs    of   hrown- 
)iick,     granite,    and 
Jisclosing   themselves 
nd    of    arched   avc- 
I  on  the  summit  of 
eminences.      Some- 
road     lawns     sweep 
e  hill-sides   to   de,ul 
acing     the     streets: 
es   only  the  eiiiwlas 
ets  of  the  mansions 
)ve  the  thick  copses. 
rd   to   conceive  am 


style  of  picturesque  archi- 
tecture in  which  Brook- 
line  is  wanting,  from  the 
F.lizabethan  to  the  Man- 
sard. Nor  is  it  with- 
out historic  edifices  :  one 
house,  the  ancestral  resi- 
dence of  the  Aspinwalls, 
which  still  stands  in  a 
wiele,  open  field,  near  the 
centre  of  the  town,  stur- 
(lilv  supports  its  two  cen- 
turies' existence.  Brook- 
line  is  as  noteworthy  for 
the  iieauty  of  its  f  lurches 
as  fiM  the  air  of  luxurious 
comfort  which  its  resi- 
dences betray.  The  ave- 
nues leading  from  Bos- 
te)n  "  Hack  Hay"  through 
IJrookline  are  the  favor- 
ite drives  of  the  city 
pe()i)le,  and,  on  pleasant 
afternoons,  are  crowded 
with  showy  turnouts, 
horseback-riders,  and  fam- 
ily carriages.  The  old 
reservoir  occupies  the 
crest  of  a  noble  hill, 
and  the  elrive  around  it 
is  full  of  |)leasant  pros- 
pects ;  while  the  new  res- 
ervoir, "Chestnut  II ill," 
lying  on  the  northern 
edge  of  the  town,  is  sur- 
rounded by  broad  roads 
along  the  granite  em- 
bankments, and  aftords 
an  Lgreeable  limit  to  the 


>f4 


W-.\ 


% 


I':- 

7:i  ■  i 


■j^'; 


"''™y!'T\?*w''"v';y^^'j^"» '^^vT^y^^^ 


'■WJwP^ 


'f^^1lil'||■'■lMI■n^'. 


248 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


drives  from  tlic  city.  Tlic  public  hiiildinjis  of  iiiookliiic,  mainly  consistinjj  of  the  new 
Town-Hall  and  the  Public  Lii)rary,  are  strikinjj  for  the  tastefulncss  of  their  desipn,  and 
their  combination  of  beauty  and  convenience.  Hoth  are  in  the  [•"rcnch  style,  the  iOuii- 
Ilall  being  ioity,  of  ijranite,  and  caj)|)ed  with  a  hijrli  Mansard  fa(;ade.  The  Public 
Library   is  a   snug  little    edilice    of   red   brick,  with   Mansard  roof,   and   having   a   ppjttv 


W^ 


'      :    .-           I 

:i' 

i. 


■:        ■     ) 


Washington    l^lin,    Camliriilge. 


close -cut  lawn  in  front.  The  village  scjuare,  lined  with  tall  brick  and  wooden  stoRS,  is 
one  of  the  brightest  and  pleasantest  of  the  many  village  squares  around  Boston.  At 
one  end  of  it  is  the  railway-station,  whence  trains  start  every  hour  for  Boston,  riMchim: 
it  in  fifteen  minutes,  and  returning  quite  as  frecjuently  ;  and  from  the  square,  in  all 
directions,  the  streets  branch  off  irregularly,  invariably  lined  with  shade-trees,  and  littray- 
ing  the  evidences  of  domestic  taste  and  comfort. 


JiOSTON. 


249 


wooden  stoics,  is 
nmcl    lioston.     At 

II  Boston,  naihiii!; 
the    square,  in  ;iil 

e-trees,  anil  lii'tray- 


^^m^ 


Ik'vond    Brooklinc    the    river  Charles 

liow-   tliroutih  flat,  marshy  traets,  westward 

lioni  the   Back   Bay,  to    the   hilly  districts  of  Wal- 

tluiin   and   Aulnirndalc,  some    miles    hcyond  ;    and, 

(in   ils  nortiicrn   hank,  lies  the  University  of  Cam- 

liii(lm\  situated    on   a    hroad    plain,  extendinji^  from 

the  ("iiarles  to  the  eminences  of  Somerville.  Camhridjje  wears  the  same  asjieet  of 
iiniiiraifeoiis  adornment,  spacious  streets,  and  ele<>ant  mansions,  characteristic  of  all  the 
Boston  suhurhs ;  and,  nearly  in  its  centre,  is  Harvard  University,  with  its  various 
edifices  standinsi,  without  ai)parent  order,  in  a  spacious  and  shady  park.  Here  are 
])lain,  old,  brick  dormitories,  built  more  than  a  century  a<i;o  ;  briijht  new  dormiti  ies, 
with  much  ornament;  a  Gothic,  p^ranite  library.  Gore  Ilall,  with  pinnacles,  buttresses, 
and  painted  windows ;  the  picturesque  Appleton  Chapel  ;  the  cosey  Dane  Hall,  ^vhere 
the  law-lectures  are  fjiven,  with  its  heavy  pillars  and  severely  plain  front ;  the  s(]uare, 
niariiie  recitation-hall  ;  the  solid  fjianite  anatomical  museum  ;  and  other  lar^e  edifices  of 
various  styles,  for  the  different  uses  of  the  universitv.  The  hifjh  elms,  forminj;  majestic 
nitiual  archways,  the  quiet  that  reifjns  throujjhout  the  scholastic  purlieu,  the  sintjidar 
contrasts    between    the    new    buildin<js    and    the    okl,    the     rare    collections    which    have 


fl 


ii 


•hi 

pi 

'I 


:j| 


I; 


m  • 

II! 


!■  !l 


r 

H 

1 

it' 


250 


P/C JURESQ UE    AMERICA. 


been  gradiially  formed  for  generations,  the  venerable  age  of  the  university,  its  illus. 
trious  catalogue  of  alumni,  its  noteworthy  share  \\\  the  history  of  the  nation — all  reiulir 
a  visit  to  "  Old  Harvard  "  r  ne  of  peculiar  inlerest.  Beyond  the  colleges  a  broatl,  wind. 
ing  thoroughfare,  Brattle  Street,  leads  past  comfortable  and  sometimes  very  handsonu 
dwellings,    in    somewhat    more    than    a    mile,  to   the    beautiful,  hilly    cemetery    of  W»\\\\\ 


>  'I 


li  ".f^-^K'^S^^r 


'  % 


i^K.-; 


iKstf^jf^fe^Ji  ^ritefc 


m 


I.Eikf  anil    Kounlain,    Mount   Auburn   (-'emetery. 


-:i 


Auburn;  i)ut,  on  the  way,  several  places  of  note  are  to  he  observed.  One  is  the  grr.nd 
old  mansion  now  occupied  by  the  poet  Longfellow,  mei  irible  as  having  been  thi 
head(iuaiters  of  Washington  during  the  siege  of  Boston,  a  large,  scpiare,  wooden  mansion, 
painted  yellow,  with  a  veranda  under  wide-spreading  elms  at  one  side,  a  garden  biliiinl, 
and  a  jirettv  lawn  extending  to  the  street  in  front.  The  next  house  beyond  was  nmi- 
pied   by    Ur.  Worcester,  the  compiler  of   the  dictionary,  till  his  death;   while,  farlhei  <m, 


n  OS  TON. 


251 


university,  its  jUus. 
ic  nation — ail  icndor 
leges  a  broad,  wind- 
ines  very  handsome 
cemetery    of  Mount 


( )iie  is  the  ^nnd 

havin^i   been  tin 

I  wooden  mau'jion, 

I,  a  garden  luliiiul, 

|l>i'\<>nd  was  nan- 

while,  farther  im. 


toward    Mount    Auburn,  down  iT'-.i-ife"^-, 


.1  cool,  shady  lane,  is  the  house, 

not    very    unlike    Longfellow's, 

which    is    the    ancestral    home    of   (he    poet 

I.owcli.     Blanching  off  from   Brattle  Street, 

l-ivsh    I'ond,   a    lovely    expanse    of    water, 

iiuich  resembling  Jamaica  I'ond,  is  reached; 

and   thence    it    is   but    a  brief  jaunt  to  the 

most    beautiful    of    New-Kngland  "  cities  of   the    dead,"    Mount    Auburn.     This   cemetery 

is   iuiilt   on   the  sides  and   summits   of  graceful  hills,  and  in  the  shaded    valleys    between 

llicni  ;    and,   while    Nature    has   been    lavish    with    foliage    and   picturesque    prospects,  art 

has  bestowed   every    various   and    appro|)riate    adornment.      There    are   lakes   and    ponds, 

elaborate    tombs    and    monuments,    nooks   and    grottos,    and    an    abundance    of    flowers, 

(juict  paths   beside  modest  graves,  and,  on  the  summit  of  the    highest    hill,  a    large   gray 

lower  rising  above   the   trees,  whence  a  panorama   of    Boston   and    its  suburbs,  for  miles 

,ui)und,  ofK'ns  upon  the  view.      Uoyonti  Cambridge    is  the  new  suburban  city    of   Snmer- 


.rs 


\\\  ■ 


t    '  1 


252 


PIC  Tl 'RESOUE    AMERICA. 


1 


I 


villc,  built  on  the;  sit'o  of  a  liill,  aiul  tlicn  comes  the  loiifx,  Hat  city  of  Charlestowii, 
with  the  jjranite  shaft  of  Bunker  1 1  ill  ioominc;  conspicuous  and  solitary  aniono  its 
mass  of  huiklinjjs,  steeples,  and  chimneys.  This,  with  Chelsea,  completes  the  circuit  df 
ihe  Boston  suburbs;  and,  after  one  has  made  it,  he  cannot  but  confess  that  the  i'ilmim 
wiliierness  has  laen  made  to  blossom  like  the  rose,  and  that  no  .American  ciu  Imv 
i)een  more  amply  blessed  in  the  beauty,  comfort,  taste,  and  jjicturesijueness  of  Its 
surroimdings. 


..«» 


(  liiuk'btt-iw ti,    hunt    Itii^htuu. 


w 


LAKE  GEORGE  AND  LAKE 
CHAMPLAIN. 

Wdll    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    HAURY    FENN. 

IT  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  in  tlie  |)hysical 
eoiiformation  of  our  country  the  northern  part 
sliuukl  he  studded  witii  innumerable  lakes,  while 
lieiow  the  southern  bounilary  of  New -York  State 
tills  feature  should  disappear.  Apart  from  those 
iiiiiiul  inland  seas  wliieh  form  the  northern  limits 
of  the  I'nion,  there  are  gathered  within  the  i)or- 
(krs  of  New  York  a  nund)er  of  charming  cx- 
[Miises  of  water  that  may  be  ecpialled,  but  are 
Lcrtainlv  unexcelled,  in  natural  attractions  by 
.mv  lakes  in  the  workl.  There  are  beautiful 
l.ikes  in  Maine,  m  New  H  mipshire,  and  in 
Wrmont;  in  these  States  there  arc,  indeed,  fa- 
mous contributions  to  our  far-northern  lai<e-sys- 
teni;  l)ut  New  Yt)rk  may  claim  the  palm,  i)oth 
as  rejjards  the  number  and  beauty  of  its  inland 
waters.  It  is  preeminently  a  State  of  lakes.  In 
the  ureal  northern  woods  their  name  is  lejjion ; 
.iiiil  111  It  onlv  is  the  westeri\  boundary  encircled 
li\  lakis,  but  the  inteiior  is  fairly  crowded  with 
lluse  beautiful  miniature  sca^.  of  which  we  have 
only  to  mention  Cayuga,  Seneca,  Canandaijr'ia, 
Olsejjo,  Oneida,  to  recall  to  the  reader  a  suc- 
cession of  pleasinj::  pictures.  Helow  New  York 
the  lake -system  disappears.  In  Pennsylvania 
there  are  none  much  above  the  difjnity  of  |)onds, 
aiul  but  few  of  these.  In  Northern  New  Jersey 
there  a'e  two  handsome  sheets,  one  of  which 
extends  acniss  the  border  into  New  \'ork.  /Ml 
•  lie  vast  mountain-rejrion  of  \'ir)iinia,  East  Ten- 
nessee, and  North  Carolina,  is  utterly  witlionl 
lakes    a   singular   circumstance,  inasmuch    as  the 


•tl: 


I     ! 


'    ■  ■     i 
I.  I 


254 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


;|l-| 


'  '1 

i 

1 

rl 

< 

1     i' 

"'^■f 

:'•.,'■ 

,     >iM 

'i 

c 


conditions  would  appear  to  exist 
for  the  formation  of  these  water- 
expanses. 

Of  all  the  New-York  lakes, 
Chain])lain  and  Georjje  are  tin- 
most  famous  historically,  the  most 
beautiful  in  picturesque  features, 
and  the  best  known  to  tourists 
and  pleasure  -  seekers.  They  arc 
united  by  a  narrow  stream,  throufjli 
which  the  waters  of  one  flow  into 
the  other ;  and,  as  we  glance  at 
them  upon  the  map,  the  lesser 
lake  .vould  seem  to  be  merely  a 
branch  of  the  larger  one.  The 
name  of  "  Horicon,"  which  the  In- 
dians apjilied  to  the  lake,  is  said 
to  mean  "  Silver  Wat(T ; "  tliev 
also  had  another  designation  for  it 
— "  Andiartarocte,"  meaning  "  the 
Tail  of  the  Lake."  It  is  tc  he 
regretted  that  the  most  beautiful 
of  our  lakes  should  be  the  only 
one  without  either  a  pleasing  or  a 
distinctive  name.  Had  the  lake 
been  a  les'.  busy  scene,  had  it 
tilled  a  less  important  |i1;ilt  in 
our  early  annals,  the  Indian  name 
of  Horicon  would  gradually  have 
been  accepted  by  the  occasional 
hunters  and  pioneers  that  wmild 
have  reached  its  shores,  and  thus 
attained  a  recognition  !)cf()r(  am- 
bitious captains  had  sought  In  im- 
press the  name  of  their  lir-olt 
king  upon  it.  The  French,  also 
sought  to  rob  it  of  its  Indian 
ilesignation.  It  was  they,  of  the 
white    races,    who    first    discovcrcJ 


LAKE    GEORGE    AND    LAKE    CHAMPLAIN. 


255 


it  •  and  so  struck  were  they  with  the  transparency  and  clearness  of  its  waters  that 
tliey  called  it  Lake  St.-Sacremcnt,  and  actually  prized  its  water  so  highly  as  to  transmit 
it  to  Canada  for  ^>aptismal  purposes. 

Lake  George  is  situated  in  Warren  County,  New  York,  about  sixty  miles,  in  a 
direct  line,  north  of  Albany.  It  is  thirty-four  miles  long,  from  one  to  four  miles  wide, 
and  is  said  tc  have  a  depth,  at  places,  of  nearly  four  hundred  feet.  Its  long,  narrow 
forui  gives  it  the  character  of  a  river  rather  than  of  a  lake,  or,  at  least,  of  the  popular 
idea  of  a  lake ;  but  many  of  our  lakes  have  this  elongated  form,  Cayuga  and  Seneca 
being  almost  identical  with    Lake   George    in    the  general  features  of  their  conformation. 


Kort  George. 

The  waters  of  Lake  George  fiow  into  Champlain  by  a  na  row  rivulet  at  its  northern 
extremity,  the  distance  which  separates  the  two  sheets  of  water  being  not  more  than  four 
miles.  The  surface  of  Lake  George  is  dotted  with  many  small  islands — one  for  each  day 
in  the  year,  so  it  is  popularly  asserted — while  its  shores  lift  themselves  into  bold  highlands. 
The  lake  is  fairly  embowered  among  high  hills — a  brilliant  inirror  set  in  among  cliffs  and 
wooded  moiuitains,  the  rugged  sides  of  which  perpetually  retlect  their  wild  features  in  its 
ticar  and  placid  bosom.  "Peacefully  rest  the  waters  of  Lake  George,"  says  the  historian 
Mancroft,  "  between  their  rampart  of  highlands.  In  their  pt-lliicid  depth  the  jliffs  and 
I  lie  hills  and  the  trees  trace  their  images;  and  the  beautiful  region  speaks  to  the  heart, 
I  aching  affection  for  Nature." 


r|f  • 


■im 


;■  % 


256 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


ApproachintT  Lake  George  from  the  south,  the  tourist  takes  the  Saratoga  Raihvay 
at  Albany  for  Glen's  Falls ;  thence  the  lake  is  reached  by  stage-coach,  a  distance  of  nine 
miles.  If  the  traveller  is  fortunate  enough  to  secure  an  outside  seat  upon  the  coacii,  the 
ride  will  prove  to  him  an  entertaining  one  throughout,  but  specially  charming  will  be  the 
lirst  glimpse  of  the  lake  as  the  coach  approaches  the  terminus  of  its  route  at  Caldwell. 
One  especial  sensation  is  in  reserve  for  him.  The  spacious  Fort  William  Henry  Hotel, 
situated  upon  the  site  of  the  old  fort  of  the  same  name,  stands  directly  at  the  head 
of  the  lake,  with  a  noble  expanse  of  its  waters  spread  out  before  it.  The  coach  i? 
driven  with  a  sweep  and  .a-  swirl  through  the  grounds  of  the  hotel,  and,  suddenly  tinn- 
ing a  corner,  dashes  up  before  the  wide  and  corridored  piazza,  crowded  with  groujjs  of 
peo])le — all  superb  life  and  animation  on  one  side  of  him,  and  a  marvellous  stretch  of 
lake  and  mountain  and  island  and  wooded  shore  on  the  other — such  a  picture,  in  ii< 
charm  and  brightness  and  completeness,  as  the  New -World  traveller  rarely  encounters. 
The  scene,  moreover,  never  seems  to  lose  its  charm.  Always  there  is  that  glorious 
stretch  of-  lake  and  shore  bursting  upon  the  sojourner's  vision  ;  he  cannot  nut  font 
upon  the  piazza,  he  cannot  throw  oj)en  his  hotel-window,  he  cannot  come  or  dLjiait. 
witiiout  there  ever  spreading  before  him,  in  the  soft  summer  air,  that  perfect  lamlscapc. 
paralleled  for  beauty  only  by  a  similarly  idyllic  picture  at  West  Point,  amid  the  Hii;h- 
lands  of  the   Hudson. 

At  Caldwell  one  may  linger  many  days,  learning  by  heart  the  changing  beauties  of 
the  scene.  There  is  a  superb  bird's-eye  view  of  the  lake  that  may  be  olitaincd  from  thi 
summit  of  Prospect  Aiountain,  on  the  southern  border  of  the  lake.  A  road  from  Cald- 
well leads  to  the  toji,  Fonuerl)-  the  view  from  this  mountain  was  wholly  obstructed  hv 
trees,  but  an  observatory  has  been  erected,  from  the  summit  of  which  a  glorious  iiietun 
of  the  whole  legion  is  spread  out  before  the  spectator.  Some  conception  of  this  |)iii- 
pect — it  is  but  a  faint  one,  for  art  struggles  always  inadecjuately  with  large  general 
views — may  be  gathered  from  the  first  illustration  accompanying  this  ])apcr.  A  more 
agreeable  idea  of  the  conformation  of  the  .southern  part  of  the  lake  may  be  obtained 
bv  means  of  the  second  engraving,  this  view  differing  little  from  the  one  ol)tained  from 
♦he  |)iazza  of  the  hotel.  This  prospect,  it  will  be  obs'.rvcd,  stretches  down  what  i< 
called  the  North  Bay  (see  initial  picture),  the  main  course  of  the  lake  being  shut  Iroiii 
view  by  projecting  points  of  land,  which  form  what  is  known  as  the  Narrow.s.  .\t  thi^ 
|)oint  is  one  of  the  most  charming  features  of  the  lake— a  great  cluster  of  islands,  num- 
bering several  hundred,  varying  in  size  from  a  few  feet  to  several  acres.  The  nearest 
island  to  Caldwell  is  known  as  Tea  Island,  lying  about  a  mile  distant  from  the  landiiii.'. 
Its  name  is  derived  from  a  "tea-house"  erected  there  for  the  accommodation  of  \isitors 
but  of  which  only  the  stone-walls  now  remain.  This  island  is  covered  with  noble  trees, 
and  bordered  with  picturesque  rocks.  Here  parties  come  for  picnics;  here  lovers  en.nc to 
saupur  among  the  shaded  walks,  or  to  sit  upon  the  rocks  and  watch  the   ripples  nl  ili'' 


Hpi 


he    Saratoga    Railway 
ch,  a  distance  of  nine 
t  upon  the  coacii,  the 
charming  will  be  the 
its  route  at   Caldueli. 
k'^illiam   Henry  Hotel, 
directly  at  the  head 
c    it.      The    coach  is 
1,  and,  suddenly  turn- 
wded  with  groujis  of 
narvcllous   stretch  ul 
ich   a   picture,   in  it< 
ler   rarely  encounters, 
here   is   that   glorious 
he    cannot    put    fooi 
not   come   or   (lc'|iari, 
lat    [;erfect    landscajie. 
oint,  amid  the  Hi<rh. 


:'. 


ljii.l. 

W 


»<?«. 


j»y^ 


changing  beauties  of 
)e  obtained  from  the 

A  road  from  ( 'aid- 
wholly  obstructed  bv 
:b  a  glorious  |)ictiirf 
:cpti()n  of  this   |iniv- 

with  large  general 
this  paper.  A  more 
vc  may  be  ohtained 
e  one  obtained  from 
tchcs  down  what  is 
ke  being  shut  from 
e  Narrows.  At  this 
iter  of  islands,  num- 
acres.  The  nearest 
It  from  the  landiiii.'. 
nodation  of  \is'itors. 
id  with   noble  trees 

here  lovers  co.ne  (n 

the   ripples  of  lln 


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SCENES    ON     LAKE     QEOROB. 


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258 


PICTURESOUI-:    AMERICA. 


w  <?i 


i 


\x. 


Lake   (Juoriji:,    Soulh    liciii    lew    IsLmd. 

transparent  waters.     There  are  many  l)eautiful  islands  dottintr  tlie  surface  of  Lake  Cicoin 
but  none  more  |)icture^(]ue  ami  ciiarmin<r  than  this. 

There  are  several  ways  of  enjoy insi;  the  scenery  of  Lake  George.  A  slcamhoail 
makes  a  daily  trij)  to  its  northern  terminus,  thirty-four  miles  distant,  returning  the  samel 
day.  A  small  pleasure  steam-craft  may  also  be  chartered  for  an  independent  e,\|)loratioiij 
of  the  lake ;  or,  if  one  chooses,  he  may  course  the  entire  circuit  of  its  shores  with  al 
row-boat  or  sail-boat.      There    are    public-houses   along    the    route,  at  which    he  may  rest 


\ 


Sloop    Island. 


.ijbfti^j^c^wffi- 


LAKH    Cl-ORGE    AND    LAKE    CL/Aii/PLALV. 


!59 


urfacc  of  Lake  ()corj;e 

jeorgc.      A    stcambnai  I 
t,  returning   tlic  same 
lc'|icndent  exploration 
of  its   shores   with  il 

at  which    he  miiy  rc^t 


Lake   Gcorgu,    Niirtli    from    Tea    Island. 

ITIic  winds  from  the  mountains,  however,  are    tickle,  and    a    sail    must    be    maiiaged    with 

Imoie  tlian  ordinary  precaution  and  care.      But    no    more    delightful    exj'edition    c  udd    be 

devised    than    a    sail    around    tiiis    American    Como,  as  we  fre<iuently  hear  it  called.     The 

t^ild  and  rugiied  shores,  the  charming  little  bays  and  indentations,  the  picturesque  islands, 

the  soft  beauty  of  the  waters,  the  towering  mountains — all  make  up  a  continually  changing 

Ipictiue,  full  of  a  hundred  subtde  charms.      One  may,  in  such  an  expedition,  go  prepared 

Ito  camp  at  night,  thus    adding    another    relish    to    the    pleasure  of  the   jaunt.      Camping- 

[parlies  are  a  special  feature   of   Lake    George  ;    in  the  summer  months  they  may  be  seen 

[on  almost  all  the  larger  islands,  adding  a  very  pictures(;ue  feature  to  the  scene. 


The   Hern: 


iitagc. 


I!    :. 


»i 


i     :\\\      \ 


,«(- 


i    ■," 


i  .5 


\  i 


260 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Let  us  iiiiagiiic  ourselves  on  the  steamer  Minneliaha,  gliding  out  from  the  landin); 
at  Fort  William  Henry  Hotel,  on  a  voyage  down  the  lake.  Our  first  point  of  interest 
is  Tea  Island,  already  descrihed.  A  mile  and  a  half  forther  on  is  Diamond  Island,  so 
called  on  account  of  the  beautiful  (juartz-crvstal  found  in  abundance  here.  Beyond  are 
the  Three  Sisters;  and  along  the  eastern  shore  is  Long  Island,  which  from  tlic  lake 
appears  no  island  at  all,  but  the  main  shore.  We  |)ass  Bolton,  ten  miles  from  Caldvcll; 
the  Three  Brothers;  a  richly-wooded  island  called  Dome  Island,  near  Tongue  Mountain, 
which  forms  the  east  side  of  Northwest  Bay;  and  then  come  to  the  Hermitam,  ur 
Recluse  Island,  where  a  gentleman  from  New  \\)rk  has  erected  a  neat  villa  amonir  the 
trees,  and  thrown  a  graceful  bridge  to  a  little  dot  of  an  island  at  hand.  A  more  ciiarm- 
ing  situation  fe)r  a  summer  sojourn  could  scarcely  be  imagined.  Near  Recluse  Island  i- 
Sloop  Islanil,  so  calletl  for  reasons  which  the  reader  will  readily  detect  by  glancing  at 
our  illustration.  There  is  no  prettier  island  in  the  lake.  We  now  come  to  I'ourtccn- 
Mile  Island,  at  the  entrance  of  the  Narrows,  where  there  is  a  large  hotel.  At  the  Nai 
rows  the  shores  of  the  lake  approach  each  other,  the  sjjacc  between  being  crowded  with 
islands.  This  is  one  of  the  favorite  portions  of  the  lake;  the  tourist  can  have  no  gicatcr 
|)leasurc,  indeed,  than  a  winding  sail  around  and  among  these  wooded  and  cliarmiiiL; 
,  islets.  Here  also,  on  the  eastern  shore,  is  lilack  Mountain,  the  highest  of  the  |)eaks  thai 
line  the  lake-shore.  It  is  well  wooded  at  its  base,  although  freipient  iires  have  swiyt 
over  its  surface,  while  the  summit  of  the  mountain  stands  out  rocky  and  bare.  Its  hciuht 
is  a  little  over  two  thousand  eight  hundred  feet.  Tiie  view  from  the  summit  is  ven 
extensive,  but,  like  all  |>anoramie  pictures,  not  easily  re])resented  by  the  pencil.  The 
ascent  is  laborious,  but  is  often  undertaken  by  tourists,  guides  being  always  leady  lor  the 
purpose.  Here  also  may  be  made  an  agreeable  diversion  to  .Shelving- Rock  Fall,  situated 
on  a  small  stream  which  emjnies  into  Shelving-Rock  Bay  about  a  mile  south  of  1  >iu(- 
teen-Mile  Island.  It  is  a  very  pictures<pie  cascade,  and  is  specially  appreciated  lueaiise 
there  are  very  few  water-falls  in  this  immediate  vicinity.  It  is  a  beautiful  spot,  ami 
much  resorted  to  by  |)icnic-parties.  Beyond  Black  Mountain  we  reach  the  Sugar-Loat 
Mountain;  Bosom  Bay,  with  the  little  village  of  Dresden;  and  Buck  Mountain  on  the 
lilt.  Buck  Mountain  is  so  called,  according  to  report,  ficm  the  tiagical  fate  of  a  Imck,  i 
which,  being  hotly  pursued  by  a  Inmter  and  his  dogs,  leaped  over  the  precipitous  side  \ 
of  the  mountain  facing  the  lake,  and  was  impaled  on  a  sharp-poi'ited  tree  below. 

The    next    place   of    importance    that    we    reach    is    Sabbath-Day    Point.      Win    this  ■ 

toi'gue  (tf  land  bears  this  designation,  is  unknown,      it   was  once  supposed  to  havi   liten  j 

i 
so  mined  because  C»eneral   Abeierombie,  in  his  descent  of  the  lake  in   IT^S,  in  his  cxik-  | 

"  1 

dilion  for  the  eap.ture  of    ["orl  'i"ic(»nderoga,  lande<l  his  troops  here  on  Sunday;   but  it  b  \ 
now    known    that    the    point    was    reached    bv    him    on    Wed   esday,    instead    of   Siimlav 
There    is   also   evitlence    that    the    pl.ae  was  known  as  .Sabbath-Day  Point    at    an   (.irlicr 
period.      This  timgue  of   land  juts   out  from  a  tall,  precipitous  hill,  just  beyond  which  is 


LAKE    GEORGE    AND    LAKE    CHAMPLAIN. 


?6i 


It    from    the   landing 
1st  point    of  ink-rest 
Diamond    Island,  so 
■    here.      Beyond  are 
'hieh    from    the   lake 
miles  from  Caid.vcll; 
r  Tongue   Mountain. 
)    the    Hermitaiji',  or 
eat  villa    amonfj  tiie 
ind.     A  more  cliarm- 
.■ar  Recluse  Island  i^ 
.'tect    by   glancinji  at 
come    to    I'^)urtccn- 
hotel.      At  the  \ar- 
being  crowded  with 
can  have  no  fiicatcr 
)oded    and    charmini; 
est  of  tiie  peaks  tlial 
■nt    lires    have   swiyi 
;mil  hare.     Its  luiitrhl 
I  the  summit  is  vm 
)y    the    pencil.     The 
dways  leady  lor  tlii 
Rock    i-\»!l,  siluatd 
nile    south  of   four- 
appreciated    inuausf 
beautiful    spot,  ami 
leh   the    .Sugai-l.oal 
k   Mountain  im  ilu' 
icd   laic  of  a  Imck 
he    |)iecipitoiis  siik 
tree   below. 
I'oint.       \Vh\    thi- 
><)S('(i  to  ha\r  linn 
I  75S,  ill  hi'-  r\|ii- 
.Sunday  ;   bui  it  b 
nstead    of    .Siind.iv 
'Niiiit    at    an   earlier 
I   bcyuiid  which  i^ 


another  hill  of  corresponding 
heiirjit.  The  intervening  space  is 
known  as  Davis's  Hollow.  Mr 
Feiin  has  sketched  this  scene  from 
ilie  north,  showing  it  just  as  the 
(kcliniiig  afternoon  sun  is  sending 
a  Hood  of  radiance  through  the 
hollow,  forming  a  rich  and  glow- 
ing contrast  of  light  and  shadow, 
i'lom  Sabbath-Day  Point,  the  view 
up  the  lake  is  grand.  Black  Moun- 
tain assuming  a  commanding  place 
in  the  |)icture.  The  ne.vt  most  no- 
ticeable point  is  Anthony's  Nose 
a  iiold,  high  hill,  whose  bor- 
rowed title  is  an  offence.  There 
can  i)e  but  one  rightful  Antho- 
ny's Nose,  and  that  we  look  for 
on  the  Hudson.  Two  miles  be- 
\-on(l  is  Rogers's  Slide,  another 
alirujit  rocky  height,  at  a  point 
where-  the  lake  becomes  very  nar- 
r.)w.  Ihe  steamer  hugs  the  pre- 
cipitous, rocky  shore,  the  narrow 
|)assage  forming  almost  a  gate-way 
to  tiie  main  body  of  the  lake  for 
those  who  enter  its  waters  from 
the  lunlh.  This  mountain  derives 
its  name  from  an  incident  that  be- 
till,  according  to  traditiim,  one  Ro- 
llers, a  ranger  conspicuous  in  the 
Iniuli  and  Indian  War.  The 
'-i<iiv  runs  fhat,  in  "the  winter  of 
175S,  he  wiM  surprised  by  some 
Indians,  and  put  to  tlight.  Shod 
villi  snow-shoes,  he  eluded  pur- 
Miit,  and,  coining  to  this  spot, 
^U((l  his  life  by  an  ingenious  de- 
vii<-.      Descending    the     mountain 


n 


t 


-v^  =j 


■■4 


I 


<: 


J 


262 


PICrURhSQUE    AMERICA 


ravine,  down  whi.  •  escaped,  and  sped  a\v:i\  en 
the  icL'  toward  I"'ort  (Icoi^'  ae  Indians  in  llu-  iman 
while  came  to  the  spot,  and,  sceinjr  the  doiihle  sci  nl 
tracks,  conciiMicd  that  thev  were  made  hv  two  piiMin>. 
who  had  thrown  themselves  down  the  ehll  rather  tiian  fall  into  lh(  ir  hands.  Mut, 
on  Iooi<iiiii  ahoiit,  they  saw  Kojjers  disappearinjj;  in  the  distance  on  thi  ice,  and,  In- 
lievinjf  that  he  sli('  (h>wn  the  danj^erons  and  appare*  iv  impassable  clitt",  hastily  assiminl 
lliat  he  was  un(l<r  the  s|)eeial  protection  ol  the  (Ireat  Spirit,  and  so  gave  up  liie  cliaH." 
This  is  the  story,  but,  (if  course,  there  are  numerous  skeptics  who  throw  .ioulit  nn  the 
narrative,  and  not  without  reason,  as  it  appears  that  I'.ojjers  was  a  notorious  iiraujiart, 
whose  deeds  and  mis<ieeds  fd!  no  little  space  in  the  local  history  »)('  this  region. 

Hevond    Rojjers's    Sli(l(     the    lake    is    narrow,  the    shores    low    and    uninteresting,  tlii' 


11 


LAKE    GF.ORGE    AND    LAKE    CHAMPLAIN. 


263 


hclving-Kuck  i-'alls. 

I  lie  canii'  to  ilk 
;  ut"  the  |)iccipiiT. 
threw  his    havcis;i(.k 

II  uj>()M  llu'  ice,  Hil- 
led ills  snow-shoes, 
lovint;  them,  lunud 

and    |iii'    their  <in 
witii    the    heeK   in 
■11   ictieate.l  liv  llu 
until    he    uaeiitd 
wiiere    hi'    Imiiul  a 
and    '-ped    awav  im 
li.ins    in    the    iiieaii 
the    ilouiilo   sel    nf 
le    1)V    two    |i(i Mills 
liieii     hands.      Mm, 
11    the    ice,  ami,  !»■ 
haslily  assiiimil 
Lave   up  the  <  liasi'. 
Irow  .loiilit    on    the 
Inoldiioiis    hiau.tiait. 
|iis  legion. 

uninteresting,  tlu 


l)avis\    llulluw,    Saliballi-IJay    I'oiiit. 

water  shoal,  and  sofxi  the  northern  border  of  the  lake  is  reached.  From  the  stcamhoat- 
landiiii;  Concord  coaches  run  to  Ticonderoga,  on  Lake  C'hatnitlain,  four  miles  distant. 
The  waters  ol  Lake  (leorfre  tlow  throutjh  a  narrow  channel,  at  'liconderoga  village,  about 
inidwav  between  the  two  lakes,  tumblinjr  down  a  locky  descent  in  a  very  |)ictures(iue 
fall,  .\  portion  of  the  water  is  here  diverted,  by  a  wooden  viaduct,  for  the  uses  of  a 
mill.  .\Ii.  I'enn  has  depicted  this  scene  at  the  hour  when  he  saw  it,  with  the  sun  just 
.-iinking  in  the  western    sky,  and  a  twilijiht  shadow  darkeninjr  the  tumbling  waters.      The 


lllnck    Mountain,    rriini   Salilialli'l>ay    I'nint. 


Il  I  i 
I  1 


'  i 


i^x  , 

■?i- 

r. 

.  ■  J 

'H 

i: 

-^ 

'i. 

1^ 
Si 

'■ 

'A- 

a 

; 

■'i 

1! 

i     '?! 


264 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA, 


vagueness    of  the   semi-liirlu    <rives,  with   a   certain   charm    of   mystery,  a  melancholy  tone 

to  the  picture.     At  another  hour,  of  course,  the  waters  dance  and   sparkle   in   the  li<;lu; 

but  there  are  beauties  in  the  uiiiv 
shadows  of  the  evening  full  ol  ,1 
sweetness  and  poetry  of  their  own. 
Lake  George  has  many  asso- 
ciations as  well  as  charms.  I\\\ 
places  in  our  country  are  iiuirc 
associated  with  historical  reminis- 
cences, or  so  identified  with  leuind 
and  story.  Just  as  Scott  has  ni;uii 
the  Highlands  of  Scotland  iniii 
with  the  shadows  of  his  imagina- 
tion. Cooper  has  peopled  the  sIkiks 
of  this  lake  with  the  creations  df 
his  fancy.  Who  can  wander  ahmi; 
its  shores  without  thinking  of  Cura 
^  and  Alice,  and  Ilawkeye,  anil,  nmu 
'r>  than  all,  of  that  youthful  figure  in 
i  whose  melancholv  eyes  is  foreslKid- 
^  owed  the  fate  of  the  last  of  the 
Mohicans  ?  In  all  America',  iit- 
eiature  there  is  no  figure  so  en- 
veloped in  poetic  mystery,  so  full 
of  statuesque  beauty,  as  Cxipci'' 
Uncas ;  and,  on  these  sl-or.s,  the 
too  fre(|uent  vulgar  nomcnciatuic 
should  give  place  to  an  iiemic 
name  like  that  of  the  brave  and 
i)eautiful  Mohican.  W'c  Innc  Rui;- 
ers's  .Slide,  and  I'lea  Island,  ami 
Sloop  Island,  and  I  log  Islaml,  and 
Anthony's  Nose,  and  ("ook's  I -land, 
and  Mlaek  iMountain — but  on  what 
spot  have  Ilawkeye  and  I  nci'., 
whose  shadows  ever  secin  to  liannl 

the  lake  ,111(1  its  shoics,   impressed  their  immortal  names? 

Lake  (ieorge  fills   a    large    |)laee    in    the    lolonial    history    of    New    ^'orl^.      I  In    laki 

was    liist    s( en    by  while  men  in    iU.\h,  the    discoverer    In  ing  I'ather    [agues,  who  \v  i-  on 


■M 


LAKE    GEORGE    AND    LAKE    CHAM  PLAIN. 


265 


melancholy  tnne 

rkle   in   the   liyht; 

lutirs  in  (he  jiiay 

cveninp:   full    (if  ;i 

rtiv  (if  tht'ii   nwn. 

c    has    many  asso- 

as   charms.      Few 

:i)iint!V    arc     iiuiro 

iiistorical    rcfiiinis- 

Uilicd  with  leuend 

as  Scott  has  niaik' 

of    Scotland    tcciii 

•s   of   his   imagina- 

peoplcd  the  sliores 

h  the  creations  of 

can    wander  aloii!.! 

t   thinkin.u'  of  (  \m 

Jawkcye,  and,  more 

youthful  figure  in 

ly  eyes  is  foresiiad- 

)f   the    last    of  the 

all    America!  iit- 

no    figure    so  en- 

iL    mystery,  so   full 

autv,    as    (' )(i|ier'> 

tliese    sl'or.'S,  the 

|lgar    nomenilature 

to     an    hemic 

the    iirave   ami 

\\.    We  have  Koj;- 

i'iea     Island,   ai)il 

1  log   Island,  and 

md  ("ook's  Manif 

ain  — liul  on  wii.il 

ave     and     lUcas 

i-er  seem  !«'  ii.i""' 


1  !■ 


266 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


I?! 


'^ 


its    l)orders  and    were    transported   ovci 
its   silvery    waters,  but   as   yet    no   con- 
test    iiad    stained    it     with     blood.      In 
1755,  General  Williair.  Johnson,  design- 
ing    to    operate    against    the    French  ui 
Crown      Point,     on      Lake     Champlain. 
reached   its   shores   with    a   small  army 
and  this  zealous   captain,  with    the  \  iew 
of  asserting  the  supremacy  of  his  sover- 
eign   over    this    region,  ordered    that   11 
should    be    known    as    Lake    Cieorgc,  a 
command    which    has  been  only  too  lit- 
erally obeyed.     While    here,  the    Frcntii 
General    Dieskau,  with   an    army    parth 
composed    of   Indians,   a])|)eared    on   the 
scene.      Colonel    Williams,    with    tuilvi 
hundretl    men,    was    dispatched    to    mai 
him.     A  battle    took    place    at    a    l)i()(ik 
about  four  miles  east  of  the  lake.   Colo- 
nel   W'illiams    was   drawn    into    an   am 
bush  ;    he    was    killed    at    an    early    pari 
of   the   conllict,   and    the   command   de- 
volved    on    Colonel   Whiting ;   a   retreat 
was   ordered   to   the    main    bod\'  at  the 
lake  ;     Dieskau    followed,    and    another 
battle   ensued    at    the    place    where   now 
stand  the  ruins  of   Fort  George.    John- 
son had  thrown    up    a  slight  breastwork 
of    logs  ;     this    defence    enabled    him  td 
lepel    the   attack    of    the    French,   who 
after  five  hours'  fighting,  were  compelled 
to    retreat.      After    this    contest    a    fort 
was    thrown     up     near     the     spot,    ami 
named    Fort    William    Henry,  in   honor 
of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  bidllu'r  to 
the    king,  the  site   of   which  is  now  oc- 
cupied   by  the  hotel  of   the  same  name. 
After  this  event    we    hear   of  numenms 
minor    contests    on     the    lake    and  it.« 


,>*; 


LAKE    GEORGE    AND    LAKE    CHAMPLAIN. 


267 


ere    transported   over 
but   as   yet    no   con- 
it     with     blood.      In 
iam  Johnson,  design- 
ainst    the    French  at 
I      Lake     Champlain, 
with    a   small  armv; 
iptain,  with    the  view 
iremacy  of  his  sover- 
rion,  ordered    that   it 
as    Lake    Cieorfjc,  a 
as  been  only  too  lit- 
lile    here,  the    iMcncli 
ivith   an    army    partlv 
ins,    appeared    on   tlu' 
/illiams,    with    twelve 
disjiatehed    to    iiHct 
)k    place    at    a    hrook 
ist  of  the  lake,    (.'olo- 
drawn   into    an   am 
ed    at    an    early    part 
I    the   command   dc- 
Whiting  ;   a   ictrcai 
main    body  at  the 
lllowed,    and    another 
re    place    where   now 
Fort  George.    John- 
a  slight  breastwork 
Incc    enabled    liitn  to 
If    tlu-    French,  who, 
ting,  were  compelled 
this    contest    a    fort 
ear     the     spot,    ami 
jm    1  lenry,  in   li""'" 
nbeiland,  i)rother  to 
)f   which  is  now  oe- 
of   the  same  iianic. 
hear   of  numerous 
the    lake    and  its 


shores.  The  English  sent  scouting-parties 
and  troops  down  the  lake ;  the  French 
SLMit  them  up  the  lake ;  and  hence  en- 
sued an  endless  number  of  collisions,  with 
not  a  few  romantic  incidents  pertaining 
tirctvto.  Among  these  contestants  was 
one  Israel  Putnam,  whose  later  career  in 
tire  struggle  of  the  colonies  for  indepen- 
dence all  the  world  knows.  Two  years 
later,  in  t757,  occurred  a  momentous  con- 
test at  the  southern  boundary  of  the  lake. 
Tire  Farl  of  Loudon  was  in  comniand 
ol  the  Fnglish  forces  in  North  America, 
lie  was  planning  a  general  attack  upon 
tlie  Canadas.  Colonel  Munro  was  in 
command  at  Fort  William  Henry.  Sev- 
eral imsuccessful  attem])ts  had  been  made 
l)v  tire  French  upon  the  fort  ;  but  now 
Ch  netal  Montca'm,  the  French  command- 
er, determined  upon  a  concentrated  effort 
lor  its  capture.  He  embarked  from 
Montreal  with  ten  thottsand  l-'renclr  and 
Indians.  Si.x  days  were  occupied  in  reach- 
ing Ticonderoga ;  then,  after  some  delay, 
the  main  body  of  the  army  were  trans- 
ferred to  Lake  George,  and  ascended  the 
lake  iir  bt)ats.  It  is  a  stirring  ])icture  that 
comes  up  before  the  imagination  —  this 
l)laci(l  Vireet,  these  sylvan  shores,  all  astir 
'. ith  the  "pomp  and  circumstance  of  war." 
All  was  in  prei)aration  for  defence  at  I-'ort 
William  Henry  and  Fort  G.orge.  Fort 
William  Henry  is  described  as  a  sriuaie. 
Hanked  by  four  bastions.  The  walls  were 
built  of  pine-trees,  covered  with  sand.  It 
mounted  nineteen  eann<in  and  foitr  or 
five  mortars,  the  garrison  consisting  of 
live  hundred  men.  Seventeen  hundred 
men  occupied  a  fortified   position   on  the 


t\ 


tiiii  . 


268 


PIC  TURHSQ UE    AMERICA. 


W- 


M  I 


l.oukiiig  south  from  Kort  Ticomicrnga,   Lake  Cliam|ilaiii. 

site  of  the  ruins  of  Fort  George.  '\\\ 
siege  lasted  six  clays,  but  the  eduiap 
of  the  linglish  soldiers  was  unavail- 
ing. They  were  eomjielled  to  simcn- 
dcr,  the  eonditions  being  that  tlif  gar- 
rison and  tlie  troops  of  the  fintilini 
eanip  should  niareh  out  witii  tiie  liuii 
ors  of  war,  in  possession  of  their  arms  and  l)aggagt' ;  Imi 
the  Indian  allies  were  uneontrollable,  and  a  iiorrible  massacit 
ensued.  This  bloody  ineident  was  soon  followed  by  another  brilliant  speetaele.  In  jiih 
1758,  si.xteen  thousand  men  assembled,  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  under  (ieneral  .\bcr 
crombie,  and.  in  a  tleet  of  one  thousand  boats,  descended  in  stately  procession  i"  llu 
northern  terminus,  with  the  purpose  of  attacking  Tiet)ndcroga.  The  expeditimi  was 
unsuccessful.  But,  one  year  later,  General  Amherst,  with  about  an  ecjual  force,  tnivcised 
the  lake  on  a  similar,  and,  as  it  proved,  more  successful  expedition.  Ills  capture  of  tin 
forts  on  Cham|)lain  brought  peace  to  the  shores  of  Lake  George  ;  but  afterward  in  tk 
Hevolution  it  !)eeame  the  centre  of  stirring  scenes  at  the  time  of  the   IJurgoyne  invasion 


LAKE    GEORGE    AND    LAKE    CHAMPLAIN. 


269 


iconilernga,   I.nke  Champlain. 

Fort  Gcorgi'.  The 
,'s,  hut  tlic  courage 
(licrs  was  imavail- 
iiiilicllcti  to  surren- 
hcinji;  that  the  j;ar- 
)s    of   the    fiirtilkd 

out  with  tlK'  hull- 

ami  haggagi' ;  liut 
a  horrihlc  massacre 
spectacle.  In  hilv. 
Klcr    (icneial  .\bcr- 

])roccssic)n  10  llie 
he  expcdititin  was 
ual  force,  traversed 
1  lis  capture  of  tlu' 
ut  aftcrwani  in  the 

IJurgoyne  invasion. 


It  is  onl\  four  miles  from  the 
steamhoat  -  laiulinp,  on  Lake  Cieorge 
to  Ticonderotra,  on  Lake  Champlain, 
a  elistance  traversed  hy  Concord  coaches  in  connection  with  steamers  on  hoth  lakes. 
Fort  Ticonderosja  is  a  picturesque  ruiii — one  of  the  few  historic  places  in  America 
'hat  is  untouched  l)y  the  hand  of  im|)rovement  and  unchanpfcd  hy  the  renovations 
oi  proirress.  Its  crumhlinjj  walls  are  full  of  history;  few  placi-s  in  America,  inileed, 
iiavc  so  many  romantic  associations,  or  have  undergone  so  many  vicissitudes  of  war. 
It  was  liuili  in  1755  hy  the  I'^rcnch,  who  liad  already  occupied  and  forfilied  Crown 
Point,  on  the  lake-shore,  some  ten  miles  northward.  'I'lie  l-"rench  calletl  it  Caril- 
lon (chime  of  hells),  so  named  in  allusion  to  the  music  nf  the  water-falls  near  it. 
We  have  aheadv  mentioned  (ieneral  Ahcrcromhii's  attempt  to  ca|)ture  it  in  1  "SiS,  and 
I.erd  .Vmherst's  more  successful  cainpaijjfii  in  the  following  year.  The  French,  heing 
unal)lc  to  maintain  the  fort,  ahandoned  and  dismantled  it  on  the  api)roach  of  the  Eng- 
lish forces.  Soon  after,  C'rown  I'oint  was  also  ahandoned.  The  I'.nglish  enlarged  and 
prcatlv  strengthened  the  two  fortihcatitms,  expending  thereon  ten  million  dollars,  at  that 
time    an    immense    sum    for    such    a    ])urpose.     The    fort    and    held-woiks   of   Tieonderoga 


2  70 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


extended  over  an  area  of  several  miles.  After  the  cession  of  Ca*  ada,  in  1763,  the  fort 
was  allowed  to  fall  into  partial  decay.  At  the  breaking  out  of  the  Revolution,  ii.  i;;:; 
it  readily  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans,  under  the  eccentric  leader  Coloim 
Ethan  .VUcn.  In  1776  there  was  a  struggle,  before  the  walls  of  the  fort,  betwcin 
British    and    Americans,    in    which    the    latter    were    compelled    to    take    refuge    under 


.  -i   .1.  i- 

■  ?J' 

,1     s 

'^    ■  i^ 

■■^■i 

■i'-f 

I  ■  1- 

'"'I, 

?^ 

''i 

i  i    i  f 

■;S 

i  y5i 

•? 

t  :''• 


■-«■.( 


Lake   Cliamplaiii,  near    Wliiteliall. 

its  guns.  In  June,  1777,  General  Burgoync  invested  it,  and,  July  4th,  having  gained 
possession  of  tlic  suniniit  of  Mount  Defiance,  which  commanded  the  fortifications,  com 
pelled  the  garrison  to  evacuate.  In  Sej)tember  of  the  same  year,  the  Americans  in 
deavored  to  recapture  it.  General  Lincoln  attacked  the  works,  took  Mounts  Hope  and 
Defiance,  captured  many  gun-boats  and    stores,  but    failed    to   get    possession   of  the  fori 


Lake   C.'hainplaiii,  near    'I'iconderuga. 

itself     After  the  surrender  of  General   Burgoyne,  it   was   dismantled,  and  from  thai   tinii 
was  sufl'ered  to  fall  into  ruin  ;'.iul  decay. 

Mr.  b'enn  has  given  us  several  interesting  drawings  of  this  relic,  showing,  at  llu 
same  time,  the  beauty  and  character  of  the  surrounding  shores.  There  is  one  imtiiiv 
that  vividly  recalls  a  verse  from   Browning  : 


LAKE    GEORGE    AND    LAKE    CHAMPLALV. 


27' 


"  Where  the  quiet-colored  end  of  evening  smiles 

Miles  and  miles 
On  the  solitary  pasture  where  our  sheep 

llalf-aslcep 
Tinkle  homeward  through  the  twilight,  stray  or  stop 

As  they  crop  — 
Was  the  site  of  a  city  great  and  gay, 

(So  they  say)." 

Hut  iill  artists  dclifrht  in  bringing   these   suggestions  of   peace    in   contrast  with  the  asso- 
ciations of  strife. 

Wf  arc  now  on   Lake  Champlain.     There  is   a  very  striking  difference  in  the  shores 


bnd  from  that   time 


Crown    I'oiiU   and    Port    llciiry,   L.iko   Cli.iniplain. 

of  tlio  two  lakes.  On  Lake  George  tiie  mountains  come  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
waters,  which  he  embowered  in  an  am|)hitheatre  of  cliffs  and  hills  ;  but  on  Lake  Cham- 
|)lain  there  are  mountain-ranges  stretching  in  parallel  lines  far  away  to  the  right  and 
Ictt,  leaving,  between  them  and  the  lake,  wide  areas  of  charming  champaign  country, 
smiling  with  fields  and  orchards  and  nestling  farm-houses.  There  are  on  Lake  Champlain 
noble  jianoramas  ;  ^ne  is  charmed  with  the  shut-in  syl\  an  beauties  of  .ake  George;  but 
tlii^  wide  expanses  of  Lake  Champlain  are,  while  diherent  in  character,  as  essentially 
Ixautiful. 

it  is  in  every  way  a  noble  lake.     Ontario    is   too    large — a   very  sea  ;    Lake   George 
is  jierhaps  too   petty  and  confined  ;   but  Champlain   is  not   so   large  as  to    lose,  for  the 


5.1.    il 


!L 


272 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


■    -1 


voyager   upon    its   waters,  views  of 
either    shore,    nor    so    small    as    tn 
contract     and     limit    the    pros])t'it 
The    length    is    one    hundred     ainl 
twenty -six    miles,    its    width    luva 
more     than     thirteen     miles.       Tin 
traveller   who    reaches   it   at   'I'icdii- 
deroga   from    Lake   George   loses  a 
view  of  the   extreme  southern  jioi- 
tion  ;   but   this    is  scarcely  a  matter 
for    regret.     The    head    of   the    laki 
is    narrow,    and,    at    Whitehall,   tin 
shores  are  mainly  low  and  swanipv 
North  of  Ticonderoga  the   lake  ln- 
gins    to   widen,   and,  at    Bur'inijtoii 
^ay,  ex])ands  into  a  very  sea.    Tin 
first    point  of  interest  above  Ticon- 
deroga is  Crown   Point,  the  liistoiv 
of  which    is   closely  identified   wiih 
that    of     Fort    Ticonderoga.      Tlu 
steamer     makes     several     sto|)|)ini;- 
places  ;    but   the    villages,   while  in- 
tractive-looking,  have    no   claims  t^ 
the  picturesque.     Some  miles  l)cl(iv. 
Burlington,  a    spur    of  the  .\diron- 
dacks    stretches   down  to  the  slion 
forming  the  only  steep  cliffs  dircctlv 
on  the  border  of   the    lake,     Tht^i 
cliffs  extend    for   several    miles,  and 
terminate  in  a  i)oinl  of  land  known 
as  Split  Rock,  where   a    portion  of 
the    rock    is   isolated    by  a   remark- 
able fissure,  and   converted   into  an 
island.      From    this    jioint    oihmis  a 
broad   expanse   of   water   stretching 
for    sixty    miles.      There   is    alriioM 
always    a    wind    upon    this   sea  of 
waters,  and  at  times  the  blasts  that 
come     sweeping     down     from    the 


LAKE    GEORGE    AND    LAKE    CHAMPLAIN. 


273 


i    waters,  views  of 
■    so    small    as    to 
mit    the    inospcct. 
ane    hundred     and 
■i,    its    width    never 
teen     miles.       i'hc 
aches   it   at   Ticdii- 
kc    (ieorge    loses  a 
reme  southern  poi- 
is  scarcely  a  matter 
head    of  the   laki 
at    Whitehall,   the 
y  low  and  swampy. 
;lerop;a  the   lake  l)c- 
and,  at    Hur'inijton 
to  a  \'ery  sea.    The 
iterest  above  Ticon- 
1    Point,  the  history 
)scly  identified   with 
Ticonderoga.      Tho 
I     several     stoppinf;- 
;    villages,   whik'  at- 
have   no   claims  tu 
Some  miles  hclow 
)ur    of  the  Ailiron- 
down  to  the  sliorc. 
steep  cliffs  directly 
If   the    lake.     These 
several    miles,  and 
[oint  of  land  kmnvn 
.-here    a    portion  o( 
atcd    l>y  a   lemark- 
converted   into  an 
|his    point    opens  a 
,f   water   st retelling 
There   is    alnwst 
upon    this   sea  of 
ncs  the  blasts  that 
down     from    the 


north  are  full  of  vigor.  There  are  occasions 
when  the  waves  come  tumbling  upon  Split 
Rock  like  an  ocean-surf;  so  fiercely,  indeed, 
(to  llie  seas  assail  the  spot,  that,  in  many  a 
winter  storm,  the  spray  is  dashed  over  the 
tail  lijrht-house,  where  it  enshrouds  the  round 
walls  in  a  robe  of  ice.  Even  on  a  calm 
summer's  day  the  traveller  discovers  a  differ- 
ence as  he  enters  this  spacious  area,  for  the 
placid  sweetness  of  tiie  lake-surface  has  given 
place  to  a  robust  energy  of  motion,  and  a 
certain  brilliant  crispness  replaces  the  mirror- 
like calm  of  the  lower  portion.  Mere,  too, 
the  distant  mountain-views  are  superb.  The 
Green  Mountains,  on  one  side,  purple  in  the 
hazv  distance;  the  Adirondack  Mills,  on  the 
other-,  mingle  their  blue  tops  with  the  clouds. 
One  may  sti  ly  the  outlines  of  Mansfield 
and  Camel's  Hump,  the  highest  of  the 
famous  hills  of  Vermont,  and  search  for 
Whiteface  amid  the  towering  peaks  of  the 
Adirondacks.  At  Burlington  Bay  the  lake 
is  very  wide,  numerous  islands  break  its  sur- 
face, and  the  distant  Adirondack  Hills  at 
this  point  attain  their  highest.  From  Bur- 
lington to  Plattsburg  (one  hundred  miles 
from  Whitehall)  the  shores  are  of  varying 
interest,  similar  in  general  character  to  those 
below.  At  Plattsburg  the  lake  has  its 
widest  reach,  but  a  long  island  breaks  the 
cx|)anse  nearly  midway  between  the  two 
shores.  St.  Albans  is  on  the  eastern  shore 
of  the  lake,  near  the  northern  boundary  of 
X'evmont.  Between  Plattsburg  and  this 
place  Ml-.  Fenn  has  grouped  a  succession  of 
views  which  tell  their  own  story  with  suf- 
ficient fulness.  Rouse's  Poinr,  twenty  miles 
from  Plattsburg,  is  at  the  extreme  boundary 

of  a  western   fork   of  the    lake,   situated   in 

iw 


r 


^l 


i     -i  I,. 


■i 


■if^.  1 


I 


'^    \ 


I 


% 


;* 


LAKE     CHAM  I -LA  IN.     KMLfM     HLArrSUUMO      TO     31.     ALBANS. 


LAKE    GEORGE    AND    LAKE    CHAMPLAIN. 


275 


Canada,  on  tlic  border-line  between  the  two  countries.  From  tiiis  point  the  waters  of 
tlic  lake  How  into  tiie  St.  Lawrence  by  a  narrow  stream  known  as  Sorel  or  Riclielieu 
River. 

Clianmlain,  like  Lake  George,  has  a  romantic  and  stirring  historv.  It  was  discov- 
ered in  1609  by  Samuel  de  Champlain,  commander  of  the  infant  colony  (jf  the  French 
at  Oucbec.  He  had  left  the  colony  with  a  small  number  of  Indians,  who  were  pro- 
ceeding to  give  battle  to  a  hostile  gathering  of  the  Algon(|uins.  He  was  accompanied 
liy  i»nly  two  French  companions.  Making  a  jiortage  at  the  Chambly  Rapids,  the  party 
reemi)arked,  and  soon  emerged  upon  the  great  lake,  which,  if  oar  records  ore  correct, 
then,  tor  the  first  time  in  the  long  ages,  knew  the  presence  of  the  white  man.  The 
French  officer  ijromjitly  named  it  after  himself— a  vanity  we  shall  not  complain  of  inas- 
much as  the  designation  is  simi)le,  euphonious,  and  dignified.  On  this  expedition  Cham- 
plain  reached  a  point  between  the  later  fortihcations  of  Crown  Point  and  Ticondcroga, 
where  ensued  a  contest  between  the  Iroquois  and  Algon<|uin  Indians,  which  si)ee(lily  re- 
sulted in  victory  for  the  former.  The  discovery  of  this  su|)erb  inland  sea  led  the  iMcnch 
to  ambitiously  plan  a  great  state  upon  its  shores.  At  Crown  Point  they  built  a  fort  called 
I'ort  Frederic,  and  laid  the  foundation  of  an  extensive  settlement,  under  the  expecta- 
tion of  making  this  jilace  the  capital  of  the  new  empire.  Twenty  yens  later  the  fort  at 
Ticondcroga  was  built.  But,  in  1759,  '"^^  ^^'^'  h''*vc  SL'cn  in  our  brief  history  of  Ticonde- 
roga,  tlu'  power  of  the  French  on  the  lake  was  overthrown,  and  their  magnificent  pro- 
jects vanished  into  air.  During  the  Revolution,  the  lake  saw  but  little  lighting  after 
tlie  fall  of  Ticondcroga  and  (^rown  Point;  but,  in  1814,  it  was  the  scene  of  a  naval 
liattle  of  no  little  magnitude,  in  which  the  American  Con^nodore  Macdonough  defeated 
the   laiglish  Commodore  Downie.     The    contest    took    p  at    Plattsburg,   on    Simday 

morning,  September  nth.  The  American  fleet  consisted  of  fourteen  vessels,  eighty-si.x 
puns,  and  eight  hundred  and  eighty  men;  while  the  Fnglish  foice  numbered  sixteen  ves- 
sels, ninety-live  guns,  and  one  thousand  men.  It  is  stated  that,  before  going  into  the 
tight,  Conimodore  Macdonough  assembled  his  olVicers  and  crew  on  the  deck  of  the  flag- 
ship Saratoga,  and  solemnly  implored  Divine  protection  in  the  ai>proaching  conflict.  Tlic 
result  of  the  battle  was  the  surrender  of  the  entire  British  fleet,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  small  gun-boats.  Commodore  Downie  was  killed.  While  this  struggle  was  going  on 
ujion  llio  lake,  a  body  of  fourteen  thousand  men  on  land,  under  (iciuial  Piovo'^t,  were 
attacking  an  American  force,  at  Plattsburg,  of  inferior  numbers,  under  (ieneral  Macomb; 
ami  liiis  contest  also  resulted  in  victory  lor  the  Americans. 

Imoiu  that  (lav  to  the  present- hour  the  like  and  its  shores  have  kn<iwn  unbroken 
serenitv.  IMeets  of  vessels  have  traversed  its  waters,  but  thev  have  been  on  peaceful 
errands.  V'ast  armies  have  sailed  up  and  down  ils  channels,  invaded  its  towns,  pene- 
tialtd  the  forests  and  assaulted  the  mountains  th.it  surround  it,  but  thev  h.ive  been 
armies  of  pleasure-seekers. 


Si 


% 


'\i  I 


fit 


MOUNT    MANSFIKLD. 


WITH       II,  I.  I'  S   I    k  A   l'  IONS       I!  V       II  A  K  K  V       K  K  N  N  , 


\   n:UM()NT   is,  an 
*        lu'iliiips    ever  \vi 


olhii, 


lie,   the    movi    pmclv  lU' 
^^       i;il  of  all   iIr-  oldi-r  States.     Though   lionieud  In 
Lake    C'liam|ilaiii,  and    prettv  well   supplied  wii 
■■"^^ y'/m.,^-  lailways.  she  sei-ms   to   he    aside    from    am  fimi 

.-,,■•' ,j,-^'  tlu)n)Uj,;hfaie,  and    to    hold    her    yieenness    ncirlv 

unsoiled    by  the  ilust    oi    travel   and    trallie.      iir- 
lueeii    the    unyieldiiifj    granite    masses    of    the    While- Mminl 
range    on    the    one  side,  and  the   AdirondaeU   Wilderness   on  lln 
lii's    this    happy   valley  of  simple    eontentment,  with    its    mellower  soil    and    -cntlt 


water-eourses,  its  thriftier    farmers    and 


more    numerous  heids,  its   maihle-ledges,  its  firtik 


uplands,  and   its  own   mountains  of  gentler  slope  and  softened  outi 


mv. 


Nearly  through    the    middle  runs  the  ( 


reen-Moiintain  range,  giving    rise    to    a   t 


1(111' 


sani 


I  murmuring  rivulets  and  modest  rivers,  that    la|>se    down    through  green-l)nmi  d 


and    ( niniMing  limestoue-i  liffs  ar.d  snnnv  mead«»w-land 


s,  now   turned    (|uieklv   hy  a  i"""*' 


MOUNT  MANSFIELD. 


27; 


>J  N  . 


Kcick  cif   I  I'rriir. 

n'.RMON'r  is,  an( 
ptihaps    c'xcr  wil 

I  111'   most    piuclv  ru- 

'riioiij^lh   liordciid  In 
|ll\    wt'll   siipplii'd  with 
aside    I'loni    aii\   trnai  | 

her  mcH'tiiU'SS  ntMrlv 
avil  .111(1  traflii.  Hi- 
lllic  \Vliilc-Mi>unlaiii 
|u  Wildnnoss  mi  iln 

iwcr  soil    and    t:nillir| 

aiiilc-k'dnos,  il^  ifitili' 
lie. 
Ivinn   risi-    to   ^   tin* 

;l\  jrret'n-lmnvi  il  liilM 

luitklv  l)y  •>  """^^* 


Icdu'c,  and  now  skirting  a  hit  of  native  forest,  until  they  lose  them- 
selves on  the  one  side  in  the  tleep-ehannellcd  Connecticut,  or  on 
tlu-  other  in  the  historic  waters  of  Lake  Champlain. 
t)LiiLt  industry,  pastoral  contentment,  out-door  lux- 
urv,  and  in-door  comfort— these  are  the  characteris- 
tics that  continually  suggest  themselves  to  the  visitor, 
wherever  he  loiters  among  the  valley-farms  or  pleas- 
ant villages  of  the  Green-Mountain  State.  It  im- 
presses him  as  a  land  where  wealth  will  seldom  ac- 
ciinudale,  and  men  should  never  decay — whose  dwel 


A.^^'i/^>5^ 


llu'  Ol.l  Wi.in.m  (if  iIk'  Miiunt^\in. 


•'  '  ers  may  forever  praise  Cioil  for  the 

greenness   of   the    hills,  the    fertility  of   the 
soil,  the    purity  of  the    streams,  the  «ielicious  atmosphere, 
laiul   il;e   iiuIIdw    lunshine — where   the   earth    e.xtends    such    a   genial    invitation    to    lahor 
tliat    .('.I    naist    he  allies,  striving  together  for  a  living  out  of  the  gr;)und.  and  none  need 
[1)1   iiu-mies,  scheming  to  get   it  out  of  each  other. 

When   Jac(|ues   Cartier,    a    third    of    a    mille'.mium    ago,   descried    these   |)eaks    from 


\-\ 


II 


1 


i 

i 

i     ■  \ 


278 


-i  -+j-i 


Coriluroy-HiiilKc,    Mounl- 
M«ni<rii'M    K11.11I. 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  M ERIC  A. 

Mount     Royal,    by    l!ie     St.    Law- 
rence,    he     looked     upon     a     land 
whose  history  was  yet  to  be,  where 
we    look    upon    one  whose    history, 
in  the  romantic  sense  of  the  term, 
is    probably    closed.        For    nicolv- 
wordcd    statutes    and    accurate   sur- 
ve)'ors'  lines   have    taken    the    place 
of  vague  royal  patents,  bounded  In 
unknown    rivers ;    and    the    conten- 
tion   between   New  Hampshire  and 
New  York,  that  kept  Vermont  out 
of  the    Union    during   the   Kevolu- 
,on,  can  have  no  repetition  or  par- 
allel.    There  was  one   Bennington- 
Ihere    need  be  no  more ;    thcri'  \\  1- 
one  Ethan  Allen — there    can    luvci 
be   another.      Dut,  though  tlu'  (la\- 
of  colonial  jealousies  and  rebellidu 
warfare    are     over,    and    this    i|iiii! 
people     are     counting    their     ratil. 
and    weighing    their    butter  -  lirkiii- 
wiHMi     their    grandsires    shouldered    their   nui'-kei- 
and    lighted    beacon-fires,    the    glory    of    manhiHii 
has    not    departed    with    the    romance    of   fioiitiei 
ife.      It    was    the    sons    of    the    men   who    carried 
Ticonderoga    and    Crown     Point    who    annihilated 
Lee's     forlorn    hope    at    Gettysburg,    turning    the 
battle    that    turned    (he    civil    war.      Vermont,  tdo, 
may  have  a  history  of  literature  and    art,  which  i- 
but    just    begun.      Here    lies   the   marble-quarry  of 
America,  and    here    sprung   America's   earliest   and 
best-known    sculptor.      One   of   her  most  famous    journalists  lure 
spent  his  boyhood,  learning  the  use  of  pen    anil    type  ;   and  lie  t 
also,  his   aptcst    pupil  was    reared.      And,  for  the  extremes  of  lit- 
erature, one   of  our  eailiest  humorists,  and  one  of  our  most  erle- 
biated  |)hilologists,  were  born  in  these  same  verdurous  vallcvs. 

If   Professor    Rogers's   theory  of  mountain-fortnation    lie  cor- 
1  ct     that    elevated   ranges  have  been  pioduced  by  a  sort  ol   tidnl 


MOUNT   MANSFIELD. 


279 


by    l!ie     St.    Law- 
cd     upon     a     Imni 
IS  yet  to  be,  where 
one  whose    history, 
sense  of  the  tirm, 
)sed.        For    nicdv- 
and    accurate    siir- 
I'c   taken   the    iilace 
patents,  bounded  In 
;    and    tlie    contcn- 
Jew  Hampshire  and 
:  kept  Vermont  out 
during   the   Rcvolii- 
10  rejjetition  or  jKir- 
s  one   Uenninfiton— 
no  more  ;    thcr^'  was 
;n — there   can    lavcr 
lut,  though  the  days 
ousies  and  rebellious 
ver,    and    this    (iiiid 
)unting     their     eatlle 
tiieir    butter- tirkins 
dered    their    nuiskds 
glory    of    manhood 
)nianee    of    frontier- 
le    men    who    carried 
lint    wlio    anniinlated 
sliurg,    turning   iIh' 
|war.      Vermont,  tcd. 
re   and    art,  wiiich  i:^ 
Ihe    marble-quarry  of 
Inerica's   earliest   and 
lous    journalisls  iuri' 
Ld    tvpe ;   and  lu'i 
It  he  extremes  <it  lit- 
le  of   our   most  cele- 
lerduroiis  vallevs. 
ln-f«)rir>ation   he  1""^' 
Ll  bv  a  sort  ol  tidal 


wave  of  the   earth's   once  plastic  crust — then  the  Green  Mountains  must  be  the  softened 
undulation    that    followed  the  greater  billow  which  crested    and   broke    in    Mount    Wash- 
ingfon   and    Mount    Lafliyette,  leaving  its  form  forever  fixed    in    the    abrupt    and    rugged 
declivities  of  the  White  Hills  and  the  Franconia  group.     The  Green  Mountains  form  the 
northern  portion  of  what  is  known  as  the  Appalachian  Chain.     Their  wooded    sides   ob- 
tained  for   them   from    the  early 
French   settlers   the   term  Monts 
I'ais,   and    from    this    phrase    is 
derived   the    name   of   the    State 
in  wliieh   they  are  situated.     The 
continuation  of  the  range  through 
Massachusetts  and  Connecticut  is 
also    known    to    geographers    as 
the    Green    Mountains,    but    by 
the   inhabitants    of    those    States 
other  names  are  ajjplied  to  them 
-as   tiie    Hoosac    Mountains,  in 
Massachusetts,    for    that    portion 
Ivinii  near  the  Connecticut    Riv- 
er, and  constituting  the  most  ele- 
vated   portion    of   the    State    be- 
tween this  river  and  the    Housa- 
tonie;   and    the   Taconic    Moun- 
tains for  the  western  part  of  the 
ranije,  which  lies  along  the  New- 
York  line.     These  ranges  extend 
into  \'ennont  near  the  southwest 
corner  of  the   State,  and   join  in 
a   continuous    line    of   hills    that 
pass  through  the  western   portion 
of   the    Slate    nearly    to    Mont- 
jHlier.      Without    attaining    very 
^reat    elevation,  these    hills    fom* 

an  unbidken  water-shed  between  the  affluents  of  the  Connectict  t  on  the  east,  and  the 
Hudson  and  Lake  Champlain  on  the  west,  and  about  eiiuidistant  between  them.  South 
from  Montpelier  two  ranges  extend— one  towartl  the  northeast,  neatly  jjaiallel  with  the 
Connecticut  River,  dividing  the  waters  llowing  east  from  those  llowing  west  ;  and  the 
other,  whieh  is  the  higher  and  more  inoken,  extending  neatly  noith,  and  near  Lake 
<'haniplai:i.      'I'hiough  this  range  the  Onion,  Lamoille,  anil  VVinooski    Rivers  make  their 


View  fiiim    .tlouiit.iin-Kuatl. 


■  i-^^:  m 


III 


■:  %:■ 


'A 


■i      I 


4      i 


'if 


280 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


way  toward  the  lake.  Among  the  principal  peaks  are  Mount  Mansfield,  Camel's  Hump, 
both  situated  near  Burlington  ;  Killington's,  near  Rutland  ;  and  Ascutney,  in  Windsor 
County,  near  the  Connecticut,  and  which  has  been  illustrated  in  our  article  on  the  Con- 
necticut River. 

Mount  Mansfield,  the  highest  of  the  Green-Mountain  range,  is  situated  near  the 
northern  extremity,  about  twenty  miles,  in  a  direct  line  cast,  or  a  little  north  of  oast, 
from  Burlington,  on  Lake  Champlain.  This  mountain  has  been  less  popular  among 
tourists  and  pleasure-seekers  than  the  White  Mountains  and  the  Catskills,  principalh 
because  its  attractions  have  been  little  known.  The  pencil  of  Gifford  has  made  it  faniiiiai 
to  art-lovers ;  but  literature  has  so  far  done  little  toward  making  its  peaks,  cliffs,  i','iil 
ravines,  known  to  the  general  public.  Tiiat  it  possesses  points  of  interest  and  picturesqiu 
features  (juitc  as  worthy  the  appreciation  of  lovers  of  Nature  as  the  White  Mountain^ 
or  the  Catskills  do,  Mr.  Fenn's  illustrations  fully  show.  Of  recent  years,  it  has  been  nidn 
visited  than  formerly ;  and  a  good  hotel  at  Stowe,  five  miles  from  its  base,  has  now  even 
spmmer  its  throng  of  tourists.  There  is  also  a  Sunmiit  House,  situated  at  the  base  of 
the  highest  peak  known  as  the  Nose,  where  travellers  may  find  phin  but  suitable 
accommodation  if  they  wish  to  prolong  their  stay  on  the  mountain-top  overnight.  Man- 
field  is  conveniently  reached  by  rail  from  Burlington  to  Waterbury  Station,  on  the  \'ci 
mont  Central  Railway ;  and  thence  by  Concord  coaches  ten  miles  to  Stowe.  From 
Stowe  a  carriage-road  reaches  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 

As  in  the  case  of  nearly  all  mountains,  there  is  some  difference  in  the  various  esti- 
mates of  the  height  of  Mansfield,  the  most  generally  accepted  statement  being  four  thou 
sand  three  hundred  and  forty-eight  feet— a  few  hundred  feet  in  excess  of  the  highest  nl 
the  Catskills.  Fopularlv,  the  summit  of  Mansfield  is  likened  to  the  up-turned  face  of  a 
giant,  showing  the  Nose,  the  Chin,  and  the  Lip.  It  is  not  difiicult,  with  a  little  aid  of 
the  imagination,  to  trace  this  profile  as  the  mountain  is  viewed  from  Stowe.  The  Nose, 
so  called,  has  a  jirojection  of  fi)ur  hundred  feet,  and  the  Chin  all  the  decision  of  character 
indicated  by  a  forward  thrust  of  eight  hundred  feet.  The  distance  from  Nose  to  Chin 
is  a  inile  and  a  half  The  Nostril  is  discovered  in  a  perjiendicular  wall  of  rock.  This 
mountain  is,  moreover,  not  without  the  usual  numl)er  of  faces  and  resemblances  to  famil- 
iar objects,  among  the  most  notable  of  which  is  that  described  as  the  "Old  Woman  of 
the  Mountain,"  re|)resente(l  in  one  of  our  engravings.  She  leans  back  in  her  easy-chair, 
and  her  work  has  fallen  into  her  lap,  while  she  gazes  out,  in  dreamy  meditation,  acro« 
the  misty  valley. 

Tile  ascent  of  the  moimtain  is  not  difTieult,  which  the  hardy  pedestrian  would  Ik' 
wise  to  attempt  on  foot.  Carriages  from  Stowe  make  the  journey  at  regular  period^. 
The  ride  up  the  steep  road-way  is  full  of  interest,  the  changing  views  affording  momen- 
tarily new  and  beautiful  pictures.  The  mountain,  until  near  the  summit,  is  very  luavily 
timbered  ;    and    the   glimpses    downward,  through    entanglements    of   trees    into    the   dirp 


MOUNT   MANSFIELD. 


281 


eld,  Camel's  Hump, 
5cutncy,  in  Windsor 
article   on  the  Con- 

s  situated  near  the 
ittle  north  of  east, 
less  popular  among 
Catskil'.s,  principally 
lias  made  it  familiar 
its  peaks,  cliffs,  ijid 
crest  and  picturesque 
o  White  Mountains 
ars,  it  has  been  more 
;  base,  has  now  ever}' 
uated  at  the  base  of 
[  pb.in  but  suitable 
)p  overnifrht.  Mans- 
Station,  on  the  Ver- 
•s   to    Stowe.      I'Vom 

ui  the  various  esti- 
lit  luintr  four  thou- 
of  the  hijihcst  of 
up-turned  face  of  a 
with  a  little  aid  of 
Stowc.  The  Nose, 
Iccision  of  character 
m  Nose  to  Chin 
wall  of  rock.  This 
eniblances  to  famil- 
'  Old  Woman  of 
:k  in  her  easy-chair, 
y  meditation,  across 

)e(lestnan  would  In' 
,it  rejrular  pciioilv 
|s  affordinf^  momcn- 
Init,  is  very  heavily 
ees    into    tiie   deep 


ravines,  are  full  of  superb  beauty.  Neighborinti  peaks  continually  change  their  positions; 
lesser  ones  are  no  longer  obscured  by  their  taller  brothers ;  while  successive  ravines  yawn 
beneath  us.      Now  the  road  passes  over  a  terraced  solid  rock,  and  now  it  jolts   over  the 


(jlimpsc  of  Lake  l'lii\in|ilain,   from   Suiuiiiit. 

crazv  scalToldiug  of  a  corduroy-bridge  that  spans  a  chasm  in  the  mountain-side;  .soon  the 

forest -jjtowihs  begin  to  thin  out  perceptibly;   and  at  last   we   reach    the    Summit    House, 

amid  masses  of  bare  rocks,  at  the  foot  of  the  huge  cliff   known  as  the  Nose. 

in 


i^ 


282 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


\ 


The    path    11)1 
the     Nose,    on    its 
western       side,     i< 
(|uitc  as  riipjicd  as 
the  ordinary  climli- 
cr    will    wish ;   l)ui. 
with    the    help   of 
the  cable,  its   ascent   mav 
be      acconii)lishcd.       Tin 
view  from    the  top  is  (int 
of  the  finest  in  our  cdiiii- 
try.     To  the  eastward  an 
the      White      Moimtains, 
dwindled       by       distaiia. 
The  isolated  and  syniiiui- 
rical    form     of    ^Ascutmv 
rises    on     the     southeast.       Southward    an 
Camel's    Hump    and    Killinpton    Peak,  ami 
innumerable      rn.dler      elevations      ol     liii  ; 
(ireen-Mountain    ranjje — respectable  ;iiul  re-  \ 
spected    in    their    own    townships,    doubtless,   i)ut    here    losinjj    much    of   their    individiiai  t 
importance,  like  monstrosities  at  a   f;iir.      Westward    lies   a    considerable  expanse  oi  lnw-  J 
land,    with    many    sparklinjr    streams    winding    about    amonp    the    farms    and    forest'^  aiui  \ 
villaires,  the  city  of    lkirlinj:rton  in  the  ('stance,  and  beyond   them    the    beautiful   expanse  ^ 
of   Lake    Champlain,  with  the  blue  ridjjfes  of  the  Adirondacks  serratinjj  the  farthest  hori-  ; 
/on.      On  the  noithwest   is  the  Lamoille  V^alley,  watered  by  the   Lamoille  and  Winooski  r 
Rivers,  that    tumble    through    the  depressions  of  the  outliers,  and  dream  tlieir  way  across  I 

\ 


Cave    umier    Lower    I,ip. 


MOUNT  MANSFIELD. 


283 


The    path    up 
the    Nose,    (in    its 
western      side,     is 
ciuitc  as  rug^rc'il  as 
the  onlinarv  climb- 
er   will    wish  ;   but, 
with    the    hclji    of 
cable,  its   ascent    niav 
accomplished.       Tin 
from    the  toj)  is  one 
c  finest  in  our  coun- 
To  the  eastward  are 
White      Mountnins, 
;lled       by       distance. 
is(jlated  and  synimct- 
form     of     Asciitney 
ist.        Southward    arc 
\illinjrton    Peak,  ami 
elevations      of     the 
} — respectable    nui  re- 
1    of    their    individual 
able  expanse  of  li>«- 
rms    and    forests  aiiu 
he    beautiful    e\iKinsc 
inir  the  farthest  Imri- 
moille  and  Wiimoski 
icain  tlieir  way  across 


tbc    |)biin.      And    for    northward 
arc  Jay   l\'ak    and   Owl's    Head, 
stately     St.    Lawrence,    the 
spires   of   Montreal,   a    score    of 
nameless    mountains,    and    Lake 
Mcmphreniagofj,  familiar  to  many 
readers    by  the    means  of   Whit- 
tier's   pleasing   verse.      The   dilTi- 
eultv,    however,    with    all    views 
from  mountain-tops  is,  to  find  an   occasion  when  the 
aiiiiospliere   is   sulTiciently  clear  to  take  in    the    pros- 
I'cci.     Mr.  iH'iin  was   three   days   on   the   summit  of 
Manslieid,  during  all  which  time  a  dense,  gray  vapor 
eineloped    all    the    facial    features  of  that    grand  pro- 
file, and  \eiletl    the   surrounding   scene  as  com[)letely 
;is  the  curtain  at  the  play  shuts  from  view  the  splen- 
'I'Ts    behind    it.       At    last,    the    misty    veil    lifted    a 
little;   and  \\c  have  as  a  result,  in   one   of  the    illus- 
trations,  a   glimjise,   through    this    parting    vapor,  of 
bake  Champlain  and  the  distant  Adirondacks.      An- 
^'tlier   view    shows    us    the    mountain  -  cliffs    looming 


Climliing  the    Nose. 


^« 


r'-m 


'  ■  ■ 


284 


/'/C  TURESO  UE    A  M ERICA . 


through    the    mist,   affordinfj;   a    <jlinipM    ,■ 
what  is  l<no\vn    as    Smiijigler's    Notcii,  di 
of    the    most    interesting     fcatuies    ol    1! 
mountain.      In    the    far    West    this    ik  1 
would    be    called    a  caiion.      It  differs  In.i 
the  cafions  of  the   Sierras    mainly  in   Im: 
more    picturescjue    and    lu-autiful     iir 
so  ruggedly  grand   as   those   md. 


Smuggler's    Notch. 


11    ;i 


MOUNT   MANSFIELD. 


285 


Tordinp;  a  glimpse  oil 
iniiiggler's  Notch,  one  I 
itiiig  fcatuies  of  thiJ 
far  West  this  nottd} 
:afion.  it  differs  fromj 
icrras  mainly  in  licinjj 
le  and  heautiful  —  mnj 
grand   as   those    rocktj 


walls,  it  must  be  understood,  but  the  abundant  moisture  has  tilled  it  with  superb  forcst- 
I  jriowth'.,  lias  covered  all  the  rocks  with  ferns  and  lichens,  has  painted  the  stone  with 
I  (lelicicus  tints.     The  sides  of  the  Notch  rise  to  an  altitude   of  about  a  thousand  feet,  the 


Rocks   in   Smuggler's   Notch. 

Upper  verge  of  the  cliffs  rising  above  the  fringe  of  mountain-trees  that  cling  to  their 
sides.  The  floor  of  the  Notch  is  covered  with  immense  bowlders  and  fallen  mas,ses  of 
locks,  which  in  this  half-lighted  vault  have  partly  crumbled,  and  given  foothold  for  vege- 


!'      i- 


I- 


i  ■■  ; 


!• 


ii  Mt'pi 


I         i 

1, 


^^■^^ 


LOOKING    TOWARD    SMUGOL-ER'S     NOTCH,     FROM    THE     NOSE. 


MOUNT  MANSFIELD. 


287 


«** 

*" 

ISB. 


tation.  Mosses  and  ferns  cover 
them,  and  in  many  instances  jrreat 
trees  iiavc  found  nourishment  in 
the  crevices,  sometimes  huge,  gnarl- 
ed roots  encircling  the  rocks  like 
immense  anacondas.  The  jiaintcr 
cimid  lind  no  inore  delightful  stud- 
ies in  color  than  this  scene  affords. 
At  tlie  time  visited  hy  the  artist 
and  tlie  writer,  there  had  heen  a 
three  days'  rain.  The  stream  that 
liowed  through  the  gorge  was  swol- 
len into  a  torrent.  Over  the  toj) 
of  everv  cliff  came  pouring  extem- 
porized water  -  falls  and  cascades, 
while  the  foliage,  of  fairly  trojiical 
al)undance,  shone  with  ;i  brilliant 
intensity  of  green.  Smuggler's 
Notch  has  a  hundred  poetical 
charms  that  deserve  for  it  a  iictter 
name.  It  is  so  calletl  because  once 
used  as  a  hiding-place  for  goods 
smujigied  over  the  Canada  bor- 
der. 

.\nc)ther  very  charming  ])icture 
in  tliis  Mansfield  gallery  is  Moss- 
("rleii  Cascade,  a  water -fall  that 
comes  tumbling  down,  in  successive 
leaps,  through  a  narrow  gorge.  The 
pi|>e,  or  Hume,  sui)porte(l  by  the 
rude  ladders  on  the  right,  conveys 
a  portion  of  the  water  to  the 
wheel  of  a  saw-mill.  It  seems  like 
an  impertinence  to  introduce  any 
mcelianical  contrivance  into  so  e.x- 
•luisitely  wild  a  bit  of  scener)'  as 
this;  for  the  brook  is  emphatically 
"a  gushing  child  of  Nature,"  not 
intended  for  homely  usefulness. 


Mo5S-t;ien   Cascade. 


t  ': 


fti 


\§ 


% 


4.1 


hi 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    HOUSATONIC. 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   BY  J.    DOUGLAS   WOODWARD. 


TIIKRI-:   arc    lew   Ntw- 
lui^jlaiKl  rivers  of  any 


c()nsiilcral)li'  lonjitli  wliicii  do  iiol  present,  in 
the  ranjje  of  their  Mow,  not  only  a  ^reat  va- 
riety, Itut  also  a  striking  contrast,  of  aspects. 
Rising:  ordinarily  in  the  hills  as  s|)arklinji  riv- 
ulets, they  dance  and  chatter,  or  foam  and  fret, 
into  the  valleys,  slowly  j^aininj;  sohriely  of  mo- 
tion with  the  rapid  growth  of  their  bulk,  which  they  roll,  at  hii^ilh,  with  imposing  .im|ili-| 
tude  and  becominjr  di^nitv,  into  broader  waters,  or  into  the  arms  of  the  all-embraciiiji  sti 


Wmm^ 


roNic. 


^: 


,t 


<«^*' 


-' w^„ ... 


-mdi 


<■■  -f 


>^>/ 


i^ 


m 


1 1 


f> 


with  imposing:   nni 


.Ih 


I  he  all-cmbraciiiti  sii 


iq 


■#■ 


l!    -h'^  I 


V 


4-^ 


■<  .3'* 


J 


! 

i    I    I 

I   I   i 


t.; 


THE     VALLEY    OF    THE    HOUSATONIC. 


289 


The  Ilousatonic  River  is  no  exception  to  this  rule.  It  spnnjjs  in  the  beautiful 
Berkshire  region  of  Massachusetts,  where  its  first  ripples  reflect  the  crests  of  fjianci  hills ; 
and,  after  flowing  for  a  century  of  happy  miles  amid  scenes  that  do  not  suffer  it  to 
(iiiite  forget  its  mountain-cradled  laughter,  it  glides  gravely  enough  through  the  plains  of 
old  Stratford,  on  the  Connecticut  shore,  and  is  lost  thereafter  in  the  expanse  of  Long- 
Islan:!  Sound.  ■  •' 

Tlie  journey  along  the  valley  of  the  Housatonic,  and  beyond  it  to  that  of  the  Hoosic, 


\    : 


^. 


the  llousnioiiK'  at  Hcrhy 

ii|»in  which  the  reader  of  this  sketch  should  imagine  himself  to  accompany  us,  may  be 
filly  symbolized  to  \\\m  bv  the  mid-October  day  v.i'h  whose  faint,  earlv  light  it  was 
lieijfiin.  The  grav,  niistv  gleams  of  the  yoimg  morning  harmonized  well  with  the  broad, 
jult'  shimmering  of  the  river  that  was  merging  consciously  it  may  be  its  individuality 
itiin   the  wide  waste   of  waters   lieyond    it.      There   was   beauty  enough,  i»»w«:vcr,  in   the 


;       I:' 


Ii 


I 


'  5. 


;<  - 


11     I. 


-I  -      i 


290 


P/C  T(  VvV:\SY7  C7t    A  ME  RICA. 


Iliiu^aliink-  V.illiy,  near  Ktiil   I'laiii-. 

pink  (lappliiifj  of  the  sky,  lingi- 

injf   the    clouds,  the   tiuiet  livtr 

and    bay    ahke,    with    Aukhis 

lust  glad  smile;  in   ihe  jientle  swell  of  the  green  land 

dotted   over   with   white    homes;    in   the    tlush   <il  ilu 

woodeil    slopes,  where    the    maples   weie    mocking  lln 

eastern  hori/on  with    the    (;iintly-kindling   splendor  ol 

their    ripened    leaves — there  was  charm   enough    in  all 

this  to  give  pause  to  impatient   feet,  until  the  Sun  had   ivnl   the  veils  of   mist    and  ilouil 

and  poured  from  his  golden  chalice  a  partial  gK)ry  upon   the  scene   chosen    l>y  oui  artist 

for  the  frontispiece  of  this  sketch. 

The    change    from    <|uietness   to    romance    in    the    aspects  of  the  Ilousatonic  \allcv. 


THIi    VALLEY    OF    THE    HOUSATONLC. 


291 


ji:«r-- 


!v4..  1= 

Sfe 

M 

B 

S 

ft 

alley,  mar  Ktiil  I'lniii'-. 

liiL!  of  I  Ik-  sky,  tinm- 

luds,  llu'    iiuift   rivit 

llikf,    with     Aiiior.b 

lit'  tlir  ^.hhii  lami. 

|iii    till'    Hush    til   ilii 

\vi  Tc    muckinu  tin 

indliiiH    spli'tiilci  til 

(larni    enough    in  all 

of   mist    and  diHul 

•hoscn    by  oiii  ;'"'''' 

I  loiisatonic   X'lHt'v 


O^tf" 


'^- 


Olil    Kurnace,    .11    Koni    I'l.iins. 


Ii"in  its  hroiul  mouth  u|)\vard  toward  the  hills,  if  less  rajiid  than  (hat  ol  ihe  cool,  jr,-ay 
ti^ii  into  the  warm  and  shadowless  heautv  of  the  day,  was  still  not  less  real  ;  and  our 
'Ivance,  helped  at  one  |)oinl  l.v  the  swift  proirress  of  the  railway-train,  hroiiuhl  us  ere 
""H:  into  a  region  where  sueh  speed,  amid  the  surrf)undinj;  loveliness,  would  have  been 
111  iinperlinenee,  if  not,  indeed,  a  penalty. 


fe*iS*i2«**&itaW^^A*ty*i 


i| 


■;,i 
if* 


292 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


oMoiif: 

interest    to    the    reii 
Ilousatonic   X'alley 
less  pictured,  before  the  opening  of  the  Ilousatonic 
Railway,  which  connects  the  sea-coast  of  Conncdi- 1 
cut  with  the  mountains  of   Massachusetts.     That  raiiwav, 
beginninjj   at    the    handsome   and   thrifty  city  of   Hiidgc- 1 
port,   enters   the   valley    of   the    Ilousatonic    only    alwvt 
lirookfield      Thence    it    traverses  the  valley  closely  through  nearly  all   its    r(>mainin,u   ex- 1 
tent;   and  there  are  few  stations   beyond  at  which  the  tourist   might    not  tarry,  and,  witli  j 
brief  excursions   to   the    right    or    lelt,  fill  his  eye  with  the  charms   of  mountain-outline, 


■'-ii.v*-"u-r:'.'' 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    HOUSA  TONIC. 


293 


^^1^ 


)Usalonic   Falls,  Falls  Village. 

nicf    passajic    on   ilu 
he      (luitc      loiy 
x   tew  initial   facts  nl 
u'    lu'aiities    ot"  the  I 
tic   known,  ami  still 
jr  of   the  Housaloiiic 
a-eoast  of  Connecti- 
usetts.     That   railwav 
nifty  city  of   Hiidjrc- 
usatonic    only    aluno 
il   its    romaininti  ex- 1 
not   tarry,  and.  with  ] 
f  niountaiii-oiitli'K' 


valley-reaches,  crystal  lakes,  and  silvery  water-fiiUs.  There  is,  therefore,  quite  a  long  in- 
terval of  the  valley  of  the  llousatonic  which  the  tourist  cannot,  if  he  would,  follow  by 
the  railway.  He  may,  however,  pursue  it,  for  its  first  half-score  of  miles,  from  Strat- 
ford, on  the  rails  of  the  Naujratuck  road;  and  this  will  afford  him  pleasing  glimpses 
of  the  river  where  it  is  joined  by  the  noisy  Naugatuck,  and  where  the  busy  manufactur- 
insf  interests  of  such  villages  as  '^erby  and  Birmingham  subsidize  and  utilize  the  water- 
power  of  the  streams,  with   little   regard  to  picturesqueness  of  aj)|)liance  or  effect. 

Of  the  bridges  that  span  the  rivers  iiere,  one,  at  least,  is  pretty  enough  to  have 
taken  the  eye  of  our  artist  ;  and,  with  the  accessories  of  fine  old  elms,  and  the  placid, 
mirror-like  face  of  the  stream,  it   can   hardly   fail  to   renew   its  fascination   on   the  page. 

From  Derby  to  New  Milford  the  river  is  unterrified  in  its  course  by  the  shrill 
whistle  and  the  crashing  roll  of  the  locomotive.  There  is  too  little,  jierhajjs,  of  the  ro- 
mantic in  this  twenty-mile  interval  to  tempt  any  one  but  the  determined  pedestrian  to 
follow  the  banks  of  the  stream. 

An  aside,  by  way  of  Stratford  again,  and  of  Hridgei)ort,  will  speedily  overpass  all 
the  initial  tameness  of  the  merely  undulating  region  near  the  c(jast,  and  bring  into  view 
tlu'  swelling  symptoms  of  those  hills  which  are  soon  to  overhang — now  with  glcom,  and 
anon  with  purple  glow — the  silvery  la|)ses  of  the   Housatonic. 

If  this  sketch  were  not  shut  up  to  narrow  Jimits,  but  diffusiveness  were  allowed, 
the  (juestion  of  the  origin  and  meaning  of  the  name  "Housatonic"  might  be  discussed. 
Tlurc  was  the  usual  variety  of  orthographic  variations  in  it  before  it  reached  its  present 
easv  and  euphonious  form,  which  is  a  grateful  refinement,  probably,  of  the  aboriginal 
title  l)v  whieii  the  Indians  designated  it.  Its  signification  is  "  Flowing  (or  Winding) 
Waters;"  and  it  is  therefore  no  misnomer.  There  is  the  authority  of  one  antiquarian 
for  a  primitive  name  of  the  river,  of  which  the  present  appellation  gives  not  the  faintest 
prevision.  The  old  Stratford  records,  we  arc  told,  make  it  the  "  Faugusset  ; "  and  we  are 
quite  content  to  have  this  name  as  n.ythical  as  it  is  remote. 

This  brief  digression,  historical  and  otherwise,  has  taken  less  <<t  our  time  than  the 
train  requires  from  Bridgeport  to  New  Milford.  And  now  the  railway  tourist  must  use 
his  eyes  diligently  to  catch  a  tithe  of  the  picturesque  shapes  which  will  jiass  before  them 
as  ho  is  whirled — ^all  too  swiftiv — along  the  west  bank  of  the  lovely  ri\er.  lie  must  be 
satislied  with  glimpses  only.  The  western  hills,  which  will  soon  be  mountains,  shift  rap- 
idly their  wavy  outlines;  and  the  autumnal  hues  of  their  thick  forest-growth,  which  are 
fast  deepening  in  tone,  flash  on  his  sight  with  weird  effects.  All  the  scene  is,  to  him, 
simply  kaleidosco|)ic — hill  and  vale,  river  and  rustic  bridges,  white  farm-houses  and  red 
hams,  mingling  togethor  to  surjirise  rather  than  really  to  satisfy  the  eye,  which  yet  de- 
clines to  linger  on  the  attractive  scene. 

At  Kent  Plains  the  valley  opens  with  such  charming  aspects  as  to  well  repay  the 
patient  tourist  for  his  pause,  even   if   it  is  brief.      He   will    find    it    worth   while    to    do   a 


1' 
*  I 


!:;:'-■!! 


if    V 


■I   ■  ■ 


^ii;- 


ii 


'11 
II 

1^ 


294 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


little  clinibiiiji^,  if  it  is  only  to  obtain  ;i  clear  idea  of  tlic  shape  and  scope  of  the  nohle 
valley  he  is  traversing,  <;irt  closely  on  the  west  by  almost  abrupt  hill-sides,  and,  on  ihe 
other  hand,  sprcadin<r  out   into  sweet  pastoral  reaches  and  green   undulations. 

His  ''little  climbing"  will  not  avail,  however,  to  lift  him.  to  the   level   of  the    Si)ic. 
tacle    Ponds,  which    are    two    verv    unicjue,  but    (|uite    elevated,  oval    lakelets,   fringed   In 


UM    liiiilt;i',    lilacklitrry    kiver,   near   L'aii.ian. 

dense  woods,  and  connected  iw  a  slender  water-i)elt,  or  strait.  'I'liese  lie  west  of  tin 
river,  and  are  on  the  way  to  a  line  hill-top,  which  commands  distant  and  beautiful  viiws 
across  the  Hudson. 

The  old  furnace  which  the  artist  has  so  faithfully  reproduced  with  his  pencil  will 
suggest  to  the  mind  one  of  the  industries  of  the  llousatonic  X'alley  the  working  of 
the  iro.i  which  is  found  in  many  localities. 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    HOUSATONIC. 


295 


U  would  l)c  (ioiii^  less  than  justice  to  happy  historic  memories  not  to  recall,  at 
Kent,  tlie  story  of  llie  Schaghticoke  Indians,  among  whom,  long  ago,  the  Moravians 
founded  a  mission,  and  of  whom  there  are  yet  to  be  found  descendants  of  a  mongrel 
order,  their  aboriginal  nature  and  habits  strangely  mingled  and  overlaid  with  the  externals 
of  civilization. 

A  day  or  two  would  be  well  spent  between  Kent  and  Canaan — a  northward  reach 
of  twentv-fivc  miles,  which  brings  the  valley  of  the  llousatonic  close  upon  the  dividing 
line  between  Connecticut  and  Massachusetts.  This  interval  is  rich  in  pictures(|ue  delights. 
The  loftv  ridge  has  now  assumed  a  true  mountain-asijcct,  and  lifts  uj),  here  and  there, 
siicii  iKihle  crowns  to  the  sky  as  tem|)t  the  tourist  to  unfold,  with  the  legendary  youth — 


"A  banner  with   the  strange  device, 
'Excelsior!'" 


[with    his    pencil  will 
ley— the  working  i>t 


Falls  Village  is  the  centre  of  some  of  the  chief  attractions  of  the  section  under 
notice.  There  is  a  chance  here,  moreover,  for  the  enjoyment  of  thoroughly  rural  enter- 
tainment, at  a  little  hostelry  nestled  in  a  glen  on  the  side  of  the  river  <jp]iosite  to  the 
village,  which,  like  many  of  the  Housatonic  villages,  is  less  picturcstpie  than  its  acces- 
sories. Close  at  hand  are  the  falls  of  the  Housatonic — the  most  prominent,  perhaps,  of 
the  cataracts  in  Connecticut.  They  are  worthy  of 'Attention,  but  it  is  difficult  to  avoid 
some  feeling  of  vexation  on  hnding  that  near  views  of  thvm  are  blemished  by  the  un- 
sifihtly  encroachments  of  that  barbarism  which,  under  the  misnomers  of  "civilization" 
and  "progress,"  clutter  our  water-falls  and  rapids  with  the  ugly  shanties  and  shops  wiieie 
dwell  and  toil  the  gnomes  of  Victories,  forges,  and  furnaces,  useful  indeed,  but  which  we 
would  fain  banisii  into  caverns,  or  at  least  into  unlovely  coniers.  These  falls  are  com- 
monly known  as  the  Canaan  Falls,  and  fill  uji  the  whole  breadth  of  the  stream  with 
their  tinnultuous  dash  and  roar  over  a  steep,  terraced  ledge  of  dark  rock.  T'heir  descent 
possibly  exceeds  fifty  feet;  and,  seen  at  a  distance,  and  especially  muler  the-  sweet,  soft 
magic  of  the  moonlight,  they  inspire  no  small  degree  of  admiration  in  the  sensitive 
mind. 

Mount  Prospect  rises  about  two  miles  from  these  falls,  in  a  northwestern  direction  ; 
anil  iis  very  summit  may  be  reached  in  a  carriage,  b\-  the  rude  track  which  the  wood- 
MKii  follow  with  their  teams.  When  gained,  it  o|)ens  to  the  \iew  of  the  tourist  such  a 
scene  as  he  can  obtain  from  f"w  other  mountain-crests  in  the  valley,  though  some  are  t)f 
more  renown  than  this,  The  great  bosom  of  the  interval  between  the  east  and  west 
ranues  of  hills  is  heaving  with  its  green  billows  beni'ath  him.  .\  thousand  wavy  crests 
are  in  his  view;  and,  threading  its  way  near  and  afar,  the  silvery  line  of  the  river 
stretches  amid  picturesque  homesteads,  which  now  and  then  cluster  intt)  villages.  A 
ileep,  dark,  and  ugly  fissure  into  wild,  outlving  rocks,  at  the  foot  of  this  mountain,  bears 
the  ap|)ropriate  but  not  attractive  name  of  the  Wolf's  Den. 


':| 


r 


■)      ■': 


Mi 


3! 


til  I 


i    I 


296  riCTUR USQUE    AMERICA. 

Within  an  hour's  walk  of  the  Givat  Falls  lies  the  pretty  villajie  of  Salisbury,  wliirh,  ; 
while  it  is  not  a  railway-station — to  its  ijositiyc  advantage  in  all  picturesque  respects  | 
is,  nevertheless,  the  social  centre  of  the  beautiful  and  populous  county  of  Litchfield.  [ 
[,vin<>:  close  under  the  ileej)  shadows  of  the  great  Taconics,  Mount   Riga  may  be  said  u 


OW    Mill,    Sniff's    Uiivinc. 


be  its  especial  guardian,  whose  nol)lr  (test,  known  as   liald   I'eak,  alternately  smiles   ii|ion  | 
it   in  sunshine  and  frowns  upon   it   in  storm. 

It   would   carry  the   reader  'niite  out   of  the   Ilousalonic  X'alley  to  p.ess  him   iitvonii 
Uald    Peak    on    to    the    Dome,  and  westward   still,  a  dozen  miles,  mp«:1   we    came    I"  tin 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    HO  USA  TONIC. 


297 


crnately  smiles   uiw" 


renowned  ravine  of  Basiibish, 
;\n(l  its  grand  i)iit  gloomy 
uatcr-lall,  closely  overlooking 
tin:  little  iron-working  village 
(if  Copake,  in  New  York,  and 
on  till'  line  (^f  the  Harlem 
Railwa\-. 

W'itlioiU     overpassing    the 
ridges    of    the     Taconic,    and 
i|iiitc  within  the  le- 
sritiniato       compass 
of  our  theme,  it  is 


Silver  Cnscailf,   S;il;l''s  Ravine. 

proper  for  us  to  ex- 
plore    a     mountain- 
gorge      less     known 
than     HashMsh,    with     less    of    ijie 
terrilile.  hut  with    far    inoic    of   the 
he.uuiful,  in   its  aspect.     Sage's   Ra- 
vine   is    but    an    easy    walk  —  or   a 
delightful    drive,    if    |)rcfcrred  —  of 
four  miles  from   Salisluuv.    Wheth- 
er   it    is    more    a    Berkshire    than  a 
Salisbury  "lion,"  let  us  have  in  thi' 
doubt   we  cannot    now    icsolw.      It 
lii-'s  along  the  dividing  line  of  towns  and   States  alike,  and   is  ccrtainlv  a  grand  bisector. 
At  the  mouth  of  ibis  noble  ravine  there  are  a   line  old  mill,  and  a  |.ictures<pie  bridge 


\:'\ 


'■•;    ' 


Sj 

1 

'} 

13 

4 


398 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


spanning  the  torrent  which  comes  dashing  and  foaming  down  the  wild  cleft.  The  sug- 
gestion of  trout-treasures  in  the  pools  and  eddies  of  this  noisy  brook,  which  the  artist 
has  put  in  his  ])icture,  is  by  no  means  gratuitous.  That  eager-eyed  fisherman  is  sure  of 
his  game,  unless  his  looks  belie  him  ;  and,  if  he  were  a  mile  above  the  mill,  with  his 
rod  and  line  he  might  still  fill  1.1s  creel  with  the  speckled  beauties,  and  be  happy. 

Leave  the  roar  of  the  falls  and  the  clatter  of  the  mill-gear  behind,  and  go  up  the 
ravine,  with  some  one  to  show  you  the  possible  paths — if  it  should  be  young  Gilmore, 
of  the  contiguous  iron-furnace,  you  will  be  fortunate. 

There  is  hard  climbing  before  the  Twin  Falls  of  our  picture  are  reached.  Voiir 
feet  will  sink  in  clumps  of  moss  and  decayed  wood,  upsetting  you  if  you  are  not  wai)'. 
You  must  cling  to  birch-boles,  and  often  to  slenderer  stems,  as  you  swing  round  oppos- 
ing barriers  of  rock.  You  may  get  a  foot-bath,  or  worse,  as  you  cross  the  foaming  tor- 
rent to  find  an  easier  ])ath  on  the  other  side.  But  here  and  there,  all  along  the  wild 
way,  are  pretty  cascades,  tortuous  twists  of  the  stream,  gayly-lichened  or  dark-bectlinf; 
rocks,  mossy  nooks  or  gloomy  tarns,  and,  overhead,  maples  and  birches,  mingling  their 
rare  autumnal  splendors  of  red  and  gold  with  the  sombre  greens  of  hemlocks,  and  cedars, 
and  pines.  The  glory  above,  and  the  dash  and  foam  at  your  very  feet,  will  stir  vour 
soul,  if  Nature's  charms  can  ever  do  so.  Two  hours  will  suffice  for  the  ravine,  and  tire 
you  at  their  close,  but  no  consciousness  of  fatigue  will  avail  to  mar  your  sense  of  the 
rare  beauty  and  picturesqucness  of  the  whole  scene. 

The  thrifty  Berkshire  farmer,  whose  hospitable    homestead   lies  just  north  of  the 
mill,  is   the   descendant   and    inheritor   of  him   who  -gave    his    honest   though    unromantic  | 
name  to  the  ravine,  "  a  hundred  years  ago." 

A  week  in  Salisbury  would  be  none  too  much  time  for  the  leisurely  enjoyment  of  j 
the  many  charming  views  to  be  found  in  its  neighborhood.  There,  very  near  to  the 
iron-smelting  hamlet  of  Chapinville,  spread  the  sweet  waters  of  the  Twin  Lakes — tlie| 
Washinee  and  Washineen — encompassed  by  winding  drives,  with  ever-shifting  visions  of 
the  kingly  Taconie  crests,  and  these,  on  the  nether  slopes,  displaying,  in  the  bright  autunic 
days,  such  s])lendors  of  variegated  color  as  would  into.xicate  with  delight  the  heart  of  a 
devotee  of  illuminated  missals. 

These  pretty  lakes  lie  in  enticing  proximity  to  a  limestone  cave,  into  which  tliei 
tourist  may  be  induced  to  venture  by  the  promise  of  rare  visions 

"...  of  stalactites  and  stalagmites, 
In  chambers  weird  .ind  dim." 


'  I 


And,  lest  he  should  yield  to  the  temptation  and  do  as  we  did  once— go  into  the  cave  I 
with  an  inadequate  supply  of  candles,  and  pay  for  the  improvidence  by  half  a  (lav's  inj 
carceration  in  total  darkness  and  in  equally  dense  impatience — let  him  be  warned  to  takfl 
care  with  whom   he   goes,  and,  above   all,   to    take  with    him    some    extra   "  dips."    \Vitli| 


I       \ 


'  'k 


■•■■■■■(■■■li 


THE    VALLEY    01^^    THE    HOUSA  TONIC. 


299 


these  precautions,  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  Salisbury  Cave  may  l)e  for  him  a  place  of 
pleasanter  memories  than  it  is  to  us,  as  we  review  our  adventures  in  that  part  of  the 
Housatonic  Valley. 

(Canaan,  near  the  outgoing  of  the  river  and  valley  from  the  Connecticut  border,  is 
an  imjiortant  station  on  the  two  railways — the  Housatonic  and  the  Connecticut  West- 
ern—at their  common  intersection.  A  pretty  village  in  itself,  it  has  its  special  |)ictu- 
resqueness  along  the  pleasant  little  valley  of  the  Blackberry  River,  on  whose  banks 
it  lies. 

Leaving  it,  the  tourist  crosses,  almost  immediately,  the  southern  boundary-line  of  the 


;ave,  into  whicli  the 


Mount    WashingUm,    from    SlielTielil 


renowned  Berkshire  County,  a  region  not  surpassed,  in  picturesque  loveliness,  throughout 
its  whole  longitude  of  fifty  miles  and  its  average  latitude  of  twent)-  miles,  by  an\-  e<iual 
^  area  in  New  England,  and  perhaps  not  in  all  this  Western  workl. 

The  slave  to  the  railway  and  its  "rapid  car"  will  not,  probably,  discover  the  truth 
of  this  broad  generalization.  lie  may,  and  indeed,  unless  he  sleeps  in  the  transit,  or  does 
the  next  most  heathenish  thing — reads  some  narrow-printed  page  instead  of  that  open  vol- 
ume where  God  has  imprinted  his  own  grand  symbols  of  beauty  and  i)ower--hc  must, 
see  a  surpassingly-varied   landscape,  with    perhaps   astonishing   atmospheric    effects,  though 


300 


PIC  TURESQ UE    AMERICA. 


-if 


f   . 


Prospect  K.ick,    \..\^\   Mounl.iin, 
'Ircat  Harrington 


lor  these  he  needs  to 
bide  tliruujrh  ehanyino 
skies,  and  hours,  mui 
moods  of  Nature.  Off 
the  railway,  in  villam'- 
nooks,  in  jjlens  and  by- 
ways, upon  near  ctcsts 
and  remote  hill-tojjs,  tlu' 
lover  of  the  beautiful  will 
find  innumerable  views  to 
sjax.e  upon,  to  sketch,  or 
hapl\-  to  dagnerreolvpt 
only  on  his  memory. 

Sheffield    is    a    ^mid 
linjierinji-|ioint    for   thiw 
who  do   not  wisely  shun, 
amid      Nature's     cluinii^ 
die  shrill  iiijie  of  the  m 
}rine,  and  the  sharp  (litk 
of    the    I'leclric    hanimir 
I'lom  Sheffield  the  ascent    of    Mount   VVashinutoii 
— one  of  the  Taconic  jriants — is  easily  made ;  ami 
the    toil    it     reij'iires    will    be    a    cheap    jiuichase    of    "far    prospects,"    e\- 
chanj-cd    for    the    "level    bliss"  of  the  vale  at   its  foot.      Mount    Wasliinir- 
ton    was   once   a    part    of    the    jxreat     Livingston    Manor,    and    its   summii 
commands    a    view    of    the    rich     and     lordly     domain    once    included    m 
that   now   lialf-forfjotten  narne. 

The  loaiist  w'lc  is  not  in  hot  haste  to  pet  throujjh  his  route,  as  if  it  were  a  task 
and  not  a  treat,  could  hardly  do  better  than  to  lake  up  his  abode  for  a  little  while  at 
the  Mount-lueiett  House,  in  South  l",>>;iemont.  a  few  miles  east  of  the  railway,  and  jiM 
under  the  loftv  ciest  whose  n.une  this  (piiet  summer  hotel  bears.  Thence,  at  his  own 
sweet  will,  he  mav  uo  and  climb  or  ramble.  lie  may  scale  the  mountain,  by  ".va>  of  "it- 
vast,  uncultivated  slope,  to  '\eijjht  of  two  thousand  feet."  'I"hcrc--to  his  astonishitinii 
if  not  before  informed  -he  would  (ind  a  villujre,  whose  ten  or  twelve  score  of  inhabii.ini- 
aie  liteially  mountaineers,  and  whose  eyes  aie  fannliar,  bv  <lailv  outlook,  with  smli  .1 
panorama  as  a  sensitive  valley  or  sea  side  dweller  would  yo  in'o  ecstasies  to  behold  "' 
is  not  linir,  perhajis,  lliou^jh  far  bro.ider,  ih.ui  th.il  obtainable  fioin  I'rospect  Mouni.nii. 
bat  then  it  takes  in  h.dl  the  whole  stretch  of  the  llousatonic  '  River,  and  below  ttir 
eye  lit    lakes  and   wtMdIands,  lawns  and   villas,  gleaming?  spires,  and    little   lifts  and  pufi* 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    HOi'S.l  TOXIC. 


301 


;c  he  needs  tn 
irough  chaiiffini; 
md  hours,  and 
of  Nature.  Off  : 
Kvay,  in  vilUm>- 
n  jilens  and  li\- 
ipon  near  casi>- 
lote    hill-tojjs,  tlu 

■  the  heautit'ul  will 
lunierable  views  to 
ion,  to  sketch,  (ir 
to  dagnerreotypt 
1  Ills  memory, 
eftu-ld  is  a  ffdoil 
ig-point  for  thosi 
)  not  wisely  siniii, 

Nature's  cliarn^ 
ill  i>ipe  of  the  tn 
nd  the  sharp  ilick 

■  electric    hammi-r 
lount  W ash ini; toll 

easily  made ;  ami 
"ar    prospects,"    i\ 

Mount  Washint; 
r,  and  its  suninui 
once    includcil    :r 

il  it  were  a  la^k 
>r  a  little  whik'  n 
ic  raihvav.  and  jw-i 


of  smoke  from  furnaces  and  creeping  engines;  and  all  this  so  far  awav,  so  still,  that  it 
is  more  like  a  picture  on  canvas  than  a  real  scene.  East  and  west,  tlie  eve  iuis  Ijroad 
exiiiil  of  vision  into  Connecticut  and  New  Vork.  The  Catskills  make  a  blue  and  wavy 
wcMcm  horizon;    and  the    Hudson,   in    the    interv.d,   twins    tlie    ncani     Ilousatonic    in    its 


^•^. 


iirct'i)    Kivt-r,    ;(|    (iicat    llarrin^tnii. 


''jMikling   How      lleie   one    inav  hlh    lepcit    Thomson's    panegyric    on   ,1    vision    not    aho- 
^nliur  unlike  it,  perhaps,  hut   in   ( )ld  rather  than   in    New    I'.ngiand  : 


his  astonishnirni 
lore  of  inhahii. inl- 


and   beUnv  thr 
I  tie   rifts  and  l'""" 


"  Heavens  I    what  a  goodly  prospocl  spreads  iiroiiml. 
Of  hills  and  dalri,  uf  woods  and  Imns  and  spires, 
And  Klidt'iini^  towns  and  ^iUK'd  sirtMnis,   (ill  ,ill 
The  strt'ti  hlnx  landscape  into  smoke  decays  I  " 

The  prartieal  man,  who  shuns  the  toilsome  clamher  to  Mount  F-verelt's  crest,  mny 
lio  afoot,  or  in  his  light  wagon,  from  his  nm,  to  see  the  f.imous  marlile-i|iiarries  of  l-'gie- 
inunt,  whence  were  hewn  the  white  coUinn  ;  and  walls  of  the  (liiaid  College,  more  than 
a  third  of  a  century  ago,  and  where  to-dav  the  old  proprietor  is  still  Inisilv  blasting  and 


302 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


m  i 


Mununiciit  Muunlaiii, 
Itlockil)^     out    tllC    111  ill 

iant     stones,    with    In 
easier     access     to     llu 
market    than    when    lie 
sent  them  i)V  ox-teams  to  llie   IIikUoii. 
(ireat     Harrington       a     name    hnm 
which   the    modesty,  perhaps,  of   its   |i(0- 
ple    is    gradually    eliminatinjr    the    adjec- 
tive—is   a   most    attractive    point    in    the 
valley  of  the   llousatonic.     The  river,  In-;- 
'm\l   all   the  while   m  volume,  is  f^ainin 
in  pictures(|ueness.      Its  narrowinj;  hanks  wear  (rreener  and  lovelier   fringes,  and  its  torn 
ring  more  musically  in  the  swift,  hroken    and  impetuous  lapses  of  its  waters.     Uarrin^d 
has  many  summer  charms    in  its  splendid  elms  shading  its  streets,  in   its  uMiactive  driv.- 
over  line  roads,  and  in  its  pleasant  society.     .Ml  around  the  village  one  may  find  new    iiiii 
lovely  outlooks  on   the   dosely-eneompassing   hills.      The  stout-hearted  |)ilgrim  may  thmk 
it  worthwhile  to  rovi  t  the  seat  and  copy  the  example  of  the  adventurer  whom  the  .ini'^i 
has  giddily  enthroned  upon  the  very  verge  of  Prospect   Rock. 

A  stroll  along  the  mad  that  leads  to   the    two    Kgremonts -North  and    South     -■' 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    HOUSA  TONIC. 


303 


llllclll    MoUllMil\. 


ing    out  the  luill- 
stones,    with    lai 
access    to     tlic 
•t    than    wlu'n   Ir' 
to  I  In-   I  ludsoii. 
a     name    li'in 
baps,  of   its   I'l*'- 
lit  ing    the    atlifc- 
\c    point    in    ilic 
The  liver,  l''-^- 
lolinne,   is  gaininj; 
res,  and  its  tmu'- 
iicis.     Uarrinj^ion 
ittractive  drivi*' 
liiiiy  find  new  and 
iljiiini  may  think 
li  whom  the  arliM 

nd    South        '" 


bring  the  visitor  to  a  charming  bit  of  land-and-water  view  at  the  rural  bridge  over  Green 
River,  a  babbling  stream  that  flows  along  as  if  in  sweet  and  delighted  consciousness  of 
the  lieauty  it  here  and  ':herc  discloses. 

It  would  be  a  great  mistake  of  the  explorer  of  Berkshire  to  go  from  Barrington  to 
Stockbridge  by  rail,  unless,  indeed,  he  had  exhausted  the  interval  by  slower  inspection. 
The  highway  is  the  shorter  by  nearly  two  miles,  and  not  a  furlong  of  it  all  is  tame  or 
tedious,  for  it  is  thick  set  with  those  sweet  surprises  that  characterize  ridge-roads  in 
Yorkshire. 

Its  half-way  wonder  is  (he  renowned  Monument  Mountain,  which  Stockbridge  num- 
bers, with  allowable  pride,  among  lier  special  attractions.  This  mountain  was  calleil  by 
the  Muli-iiek-a-new  Indians — the  old  Stockbridge  tribe — "  Maus-was-sce-ki,"  whicii  means 
Tlu'  bisher's  Nest."  Us  present  appellation  was  given  to  it,  perhaps,  on  account  of  a 
caiiii  found  upon  its  southern  crest,  which  has  connected  with  it  an  Indian  myth  of  a 
dusky  maiden  who,  disappointed  in  love,  jumped  from  liie  precipice,  and  was  killed — a 
love-lorn  sacrifice  which  the  braves  eommemorated  by  flinging  a  stone  upon  the  fatal  spot 
wheiHver  they  passed  by  it.     \\  itii  or  without  legend,  it  is  a  weird  and  romantic  spot. 

i'rom  Monument  Mountain  to  the  village  of  Stockbridge  is  less  than  half  an  hour's 
drive,  when  the  carriage-road  has  been  regained.  This  village — the  "  llousatonnuc "  of 
|)ast  generations — is  of  a  romantic  beauty.  Its  houses  ami  cburciies,  its  library  and 
academy,  its  fountain  antl  monuments,  are  pretty  mosaics  set  in  tiie  emerald  of  wonder- 
ful finis.  There  are  few — if,  indeed,  there  are  anv — villages  in  our  land  tlu.t  can  rival  it 
in  rare  and  fascinating  aspects  of  rural  beauty,  in  immediate  siirniundings  of  unwt)nted 
charms,  in  worthy  and  precious  historical  associations,  and  in  the  renown  of  noliie  sons 
and  (laughters.  The  beauties  of  Stockbridge  lie  in  manv  directions.  To  the  north,  the 
pretty  lake  Mahkeenac — more  litmiliarlv  i.nown  as  the  "Stockbridge  iiowl"  spreads  its 
translucent  waters,  shapely,  in  its  outline,  as  a  gigantic  basin,  on  whose  margin  liawlhom' 
iiiKc  lived  for  a  succession  of  seasons.  A  mile  or  more  from  the  village  is  found  that 
wdiidi  r  of  Nattire,  the  Ice  Glen,  which  pierces  the  northern  spur  of  Bear  Mountain  ; 
.iikI  in  its  long  and  avvsonie  corridors  and  crypts,  fonned  b\  massive  and  gUxuny  roeks, 
and  huge  but  prostrate  trees,  the  explorer  may  find  masses  of  ice  in  tht  heart  and  heat 
of  midsummer.  The  passage  of  this  glen,  though  not  perilous,  requires  ,erve  and  pa- 
lienir,  and  the  cheer  of  glowing  torches  withal.  The  heights  thai  overhang  the  village 
air  "beautiful  for  situation,"  and  studded  with  pleasant  villas,  whose  fortunate  possessors 
niav  gaze  at  will  over  the  lair  interlocking  valle\s  of  the   Uousatonic  and  the   Konkapot. 

Among  the  names  ihal  memorv  Knes  to  recall  in  conneelitm  with  old  Stt>ckbridge, 
iioiii'  will  live  so  long  «»r  so  jjiominentlv  in  history  as  that  of  Jonathan  F.dwards.  This 
distinguished  divine  was  not  n  native  of  the  village,  and,  indeed,  lived  there  only  a  few 
years,  Init  he  was  so  closi-ly  identified,  for  that  time,  with  all  the  interests  of  the  place, 
and  especially  with  its  religious  and  missionary  work,  that  lie  grew  rapidly  into  the  a'Vi- 


i 


4i 


304 


P/C  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA . 


■3  i 

'II     i 


¥ 


Uousatonic  Kivui,  al  Sloikliridgc. 

rciilial  iTjrani  and  love  of  its  pcdplf, 
1 1  was  tluMi'  that  lie  wiotf  his  faiiuui-^ 
work,  "The  I"reo(!i)m  of  the  \\'ili,"  iin- 
lioiihtiHlly  !iis  master-work.  The  sal- 
ary ot  tliis  great  preachei — as  the  jias- 
tor  of  the  vStockhridjje  Chiireh,  and 
distinet  from  his  remuneration  as  mis- 
sionary to  the  Imiiaiis  -was,  in  monev,  less  than  seven  pounds  stcrlinjj  per  annum,  ami 
two  pounds  moic  in  value  paid  in  wood!  Stockbridije  honored  the  memory  of  this 
remarkable  man  by  envtini;  to  him,  on  the  villajje  yreen,  a  monument  of  polishol 
Seoteh   fifranile. 

On  leavin^r  Sloekhridge,  the  tourist  may  sea  reel  v  venture  to  jiromise  himself  a  heautv 
h(  \(inil  that  he  has  already  enjoyed  ;  and  this  may  he  suju^yested  w;*ih<iut  disparajreim nt 
to  the  varied  scenery  of  Northern  Berkshire.  It  may  hardly  he  ilouhteil  thai  tlu'  1  art 
and  numerous  .ittraeli.ms  of  this  whole  reijion — so  aptly  called  "the  I'.ilestine  of  \<'\v 
Ijiiiland  "  are  crystallized,  in  excess  of  loveliness,  anumd  S'ockbridjLrt  as  a  nucleus.  If 
this  verdict  hail  jfalherid  somethinir  of  wt  iirhl  to  the  judirmeni  from  the  acknowleilytd 
union  in  Siockbridjrc  of  all  the  forces  natural,  historical,  social,  intellectual,  and  rcli^iois 
alike  whiih  have  ifiven  to  Mcrkshiie  its  enviable  renown,  the  inlluence  would  be,  r.t  mi- 
thcl  ss    Icjji'.imate  and  just. 

There  is,  however,  much  bcvond  this  pietureM|UC  centre  ileservinK  the  regard  ol  all 
the    lovers  of   NalMic.      .\iiil    this    ;  «ii.'ichends    novelty,  as  well    as   similarity,  nl 

landscape  and     vutcr  view.     !t    1  .      .'  id    .  1  |v  ii  n   one  half  of  IKrkshire   has  been  seen, 


:'*:  „ 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    HOUSA  TONIC. 


J"JD 


,  e  of   its    podplc. 
viotf  his  fanioib 
of  tlif  Will,"  iin 
work,      'llu     al 
thcr— as  thf  pb 
Igc    Church,   ;inil 
(.•ration  as  mi- 
)cr   annum,  aiiii 
memory  of  ilib 
111    of   polislui 

limsi'if  a  ln.;uii' 
(lisparanciiK  i 
•,1  thai  llu'  I.I' 
ilcstinc  of  N' 
IS  a  nucleus.  1 
u'  acknowltd'j' 
al,  ami  rdiui" 
^voulii  he,  r.<^' 

he   regard  ol  ,ill 
as   similarity,   'i 
lias  been  smi 


tluil  the  t)ther  half  will  possihly  present  fewer  "delicious  suiprises"  than  otherwise  to  tlie 
oyc  of  the  explorer.  There  are  new  outlines  of  the  mountains  to  he  stuilied ;  new 
groupings  of  their  massive  forms,  with  new  details  and  specialties  i)f  glen,  and  lake,  and 
water-fall,  to  he  noted. 

The  Iloosac  range  of  lofty  hills,  on  the  east,  comes  now  intt)  distinct  and  close 
rivalry  with  the  Ta^onics,  on  the  west;  and  fixr  away,  in  the  norllu  in  end  of  the  eountv, 
the  lordly  Graylock  lifts  his  hlue  crest  with  such  preiiminencc  of  majestic  mien  that  the 
maii\    i)eaks  already  named  sink  inferior  to  its  grand  central  prominence. 

I.ee  and  Leno.\  are  the  two  villages  that  lie  in  the  Ilousatonic  Valley  between 
SttuUliridge  and  Fittslield,  which  latter  village  is  rapidly  growing  into  the  rank  of  a  eitv, 
mil  is  tiie  metio|>olis  of  all  the   Berkshire  region. 

.\l  Lee,  throujrh  which  the  railway  passes,  the  river  is  tpiite  as  useful  as  it  is  lieau- 
(iful,  lending  its  force  and  i)urity  alike  to  the  paper-mills  which  have  contributed  so 
imich  lo  liuild  up  and  enrich  the  village.  Another  and  perhaps  the  chief  industrv  of 
this  thriving  and  attractive  |)lace  is  the  quarrying  of  its  fme,  white  building-marble,  which 
iv|)ivsents  iJerkshire,  with  such  solid  and  permanent  effect,  in  the  walls  of  the  Capitt)l  at 
Washington.  I.ee  has  a  pretty  lake,  within  a  pleasant  half-hour's  walk  on  die  road  to 
Lenox  ;  but,  for  heavier  charms,  its  summer  guests  make  e.xcuisions  to  (piaint  old  Mon- 
icirv  .md  to  Tyringham,  on  the  east,  and  to  Lenox  and  .Stockbridge,  between  which 
|ikicts  it  is  about  eipiidista-.v. 

Lenox  lies  two  miles  ajtart  from  the  line  of  the  railway,  having  a  station  onlv  at 
Lenox  L'urnace.  At  f<  w — if  at  any  -points  immediately  on  the  iron  track  we  are  fol- 
lowing is  there  so  nni( 'i  to  charm  and  detain  the  eve  .is  at  this  st.ition.  The  sweet, 
iranshui'nl  river,  its  rustic  bridge,  the  swelling  knolls  of  the  interval,  and  the  bold,  inland 
-"Werp  ol  the  near  mountains,  make  up  a  most  exquisite  pictuie,  to  which  no  artist's  eye 
lotild  be  indifferent,  even  amid  the  profusion  of  charming  views  springing  up  on  eveiy 
hand. 

.\l  Lenox  I'mnaee  the  double  industry  of  glass  and  iron  working  yives  occupatioti 
lo  iiunurous  workmen.  The  lecent  production  there  of  excellent  plate-glass,  fiom  the 
lini'-v;r,nndated  cpiartz  of  the  iciiion  about  it,  is  .i  noleworilu  inrideiit  in  the  ni.nuilaetur- 
iiiy  annals  of   Merkshire. 

Of  Lenox  itself  reached  bv  a  drive  of  constantly-incieasing  |)ictuiesqueness  these 
ihrunicles  can  make  but  inade(|uate  mentio  i.  Professor  Siliiman  designated  it.  in  his 
nthusiastic  atlmiration  of  its  puic,  exhilarating  air,  an«l  its  lovelv  views,  "a  gem  among 
ihe  mountains."  It  deserves  the  praise.  'I'ill  leccnllv,  it  was  the  shiie-town  of  the 
lenion,  and  term-time  gave  it  a  m<-asure  of  itnportancf'  and  inlhience  which  it  has  since 
lost.  Hut  it  cannot  lose  its  beautv,  and  the  smnmer  nouM  its  popul.ii ion  with  hundieds 
of  happy  pil(rrims  from  die  cities,  some  of  whom  occupy  ibeii  own  wWa-^.  while  moa' 
irtiwd  its  h«>tei  and  the  niimer(.us  boaiding-lufUMS  which  tli.ill«ng<    this  peiiodieal  inHiix. 


■HMHMI 


mmm 


If 


'1  H 


#J' 


hi 

In 


I;   "' 


306 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Ice   lilcn,    Stockbridi;!'. 


All  iin.uiid  I.rn'.x.  the  cresf;  and  slopes  of  its  constituent  and  outlyinjr  hiHs  art- 
covered  l)y  niansions  and  villas,  which  one  mi^rht  rcmemlK-i  fur  their  architectural  indi- 
viduality, if  this  w(  n  not  always  eclipsed  by  the  surpassin>{  breadtfa  and  t>*4Utv  0I  ilu 
outliMik. 

In    (lescril)e    this,  would    lie    t<.    repeat     only,  perhaps,  with    new   alloLdtton»   <A  '■?' 


THE    VALLEY    OE    THE    HOUSA  TONIC. 


307 


Irx  utl/nl**    ''/   *'V 


tlicts — what  has  been  said  of  the  more  southern  part  of  the  valley.  Here,  however, 
the  tlwellings  are  far  more  numerous,  and  a  rieher  soeial  element  mingles  with  and  en- 
hances the  simply   pieturesque   in   the   landseape. 

That  gifted  and  genial  woman,  Frederika  liremer,  is  hut  one  of  a  score  of  literary 
notabilities  who,  living,  or  lingering  for  a  while  at  least,  amid  the  charms  of  Lenox,  have 
recorded  their  admiration  of  it  in  glowing  words.  Hers  may  serve  as  a  type  of  their 
kindred  utterances.  She  writes :  "  The  country  around  Lenox  is  romantically  lovely,  in- 
spired with  wood-covered  hills,  and  the  prettiest  little  lakes."  In  describing  the  Housa- 
tonic  scenery  more  generally,  she  justly  uses  these  emphatic  expressions — "  wonderfully 
picturesque,  and  sometimes  splendidly  gloomy." 

It  was  at  Lenox  that  Fanny  Kemble  lived,  and  expressed  the  wish  to  be  buried, 
Siivnisj::  "I  will  not  rise  to  trouble  any  one,  if  they  will  let  me  sleep  hero.  I  will  only 
ask  10  be  permitted,  once  in  a  while,  to  raise  my  head  and  look  (^ut  upon  this  glorious 
sceD"'." 

The  English  origin  of  this  delightful  place  is  commemorated,  after  the  lapse  of  more 
than  twelve  decades,  in  its  name,  which  was  the  patronymic  of  the  Duke  of  Richmond. 

The  fine  view  which   the    "Ledge"   contributes    to    the   embellishment   of    this  |)aper 

will   lie    its   own    best    commentary  on  the  breadth    and    manifold   charms   of  the  Linox 

landscape.     The  summer  guests  of  Lenox  find  great  delight  in  gazing  out  fron^  its  nt)ble 

ciii<rnes  of  vantage."     For  still  wider  range  of  vision,  they  go  to  Perry's  Peak,  a  bald  and 

lull  '\   summit   on   the  west,  easily   reached   in   an   hour's  ride,  and    standing    like   a   grim 

•ntinel  on  the  New -York  border. 

There  is  a  scientific  interest,  also,  about  Perry's  I'eak,  in  that  it  is  strewed  with  tlie 
Imu  bowlders  which  are  traced,  in  seven  ])arallel  lines,  across  the  Richmond  \'alley,  inter- 
\eiiniir  lietween  the  peak  and  Lenox  Mountain.  These  stones  attracted  the  careful  notice 
and  liiligent  review  of  that  eminent  English  geologist.  Sir  Charles  Lyell.  On  thi'^  peak, 
also,  in  1869,  some  local  scientific  associations  held  a  "field-day"  for  the  especial  com- 
memoration of  the  centennial  anniversarv  of  Humboldt's  birthday.  .A  line  photograph  <i( 
the  frrand  old  savant  was  uncovered,  and  a  tril)ute-poem  read,  on  the  |)leasant  oreasion. 

.Among  the  attractive  points  included  in  the  magnificent  overlook  ho  .he  peak 
arc  the  Shaker  villages  of  both  Lebanon,  in  New  N'ork,  and  Ilancotk,  in  Mas-^aehtlwetts, 
tiie  former  being,  perhaps,  the  metropolis  of  the  sect  of  Shakers.  The  Moston  and  Mh!\ny 
Kailwax  passes  close  by  the  village  of  the  Hancock  Shakers,  and  has  a  station  there. 
TIk  town  of  Hancock  is  itself  one  of  the  outlying  characteristics  of  the  Housatonii 
\  alley.  Jt  i>  altogether  mountainous,  being  only  a  long  and  narrow  tract  on  'he  back- 
Ikhk  and  slope*  (»f  the  Taeonic  range,  with  a  single  hamlr«  crouching  in  a  beautiful 
CO'.,  or  interval,  near  the  northern  end  of  it.  Th«  tiwds  which  cross  this  attenuated 
to.viiship  are  very  romantic  and  very  rough,  rv.iiw  pcriiaps,  thtp«-  from  Lehajiun  and 
Maiicocii  villages  direct,  ..Iilvl.      a  fine  in  sun ul  miKh  fawlled. 


1=3 


i 
i- 

i' 

^'i 

f 

■  i 

i 

« 

:P 

',1 

'?  >     w 


i  I 


308 


/VC  77  7v'/:\S  0  <"/:"    AMIiR/CA . 


i^ittslickl  is  the  terminus  of  the  Housatonic  Railwa)-,  one  iiuncircd  and  ten  miles 
from  Biicl_ire|)ort  ;  and  iieie  the  Housatonic  River  dwindles  greatly  by  its  division  iniu 
two  arms,  one  of  which  Hows  from  Pontoosuc  Lake  just  northward,  and  the  other,  with 
far  greater  meandering,  from  distant  northeastern  hills  in   Berkshire  towns. 


■^■*»ri"**  "^rt!^  ■ 


Lenox    Station. 

I*ittsfield  commemorates  in  its  name  the  fame  of  luigland's  nohlc  st.itesman,  William 
I'itt.  It  is  one  of  the  handsomest  villages  in  New  England,  and  perhaps  the  "  Nrw- 
England  IJand-Book"  anticipates  events  only  the  least  in  calling  it  a  "city."  It  •might 
be  so,  hut  it  is  not  now.  It  is  already  suburban  in  its  aspects,  and  exhibits  fine  arciii- 
tectural  ambaions  in  several  recent  public  buildings. 

Its  just    pride    in    i*s   history,  and  in  that  of  the  county  it  represents,  had   a   happy 


H  i' 


View    from   the    "I^ge,"    loimx. 

exposition,  nearly  twenty  years  ago,  in  the  Berkshire  jubilee,  a  festival  which  gathcnd 
the  sons  .md  daughters  of  Berkshire  by  hundreds  "from  near  and  from  far,"  and  madf  a 
l>righ'   and  memorable  page  of  historv  for  the  place.      The   historic  elm-tree  of   Pittslirlil, 


THE    VAIJ.F.y    OF    TIIH    IIOUSATONIC. 


309 


and  ten  miles 
s  division  iiitu 
the  other,  with 


tesman,  William 
aps  the  "  Ncw- 
;ity."  It  ■niii^li! 
iljits    line   aiciii- 

s,  liad   a   ha])!!}- 


whicii  patlHKii 
ir,"  and  made  a 
L-e  of   I'ittslirM, 


li.iiik^    III    lliL-    llmisiilonic,    at    l'itl^lield. 

uliicli  stood  and  hourjrioned  for  more  than  three  centuries  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
vill.ure,  was  necessarily  cut  down  in  1864;  and  the  jriound  it  once  shaded  is  now  a 
|ircti\  park,  adorned  with  a  fountain  and  a  soldiers'  monument  designed  by  Launt 
Tiionipson. 

The    industry   of   Pittsficid    is   chiefly  directed    to    manufactures  of  cotton  and  wool, 


.%:.- 


I  ' 


■-■■"  ...Si^ikiBJj^.i'^sA*.-^. 


^^ 


310 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


I? 


I   4 


j  I  i; 

• !    1'      Si 


li     1 
■f      ■ 


5. 


CiraylofU    Mountain,    froin    Soutli    Adams. 

facilitated  by  the  line  water  -  powir 
which  tiie  Hoiisatonic,  though  shrunk 
to  narrow  streams,  still  avails  to  furnish. 
The  large  church  to  which  tiic 
late  Dr.  Todd  ministered  for  twenty 
years  is  tiie  foremost  of  half  a  dozen  of  various  denominations,  whicli  are  all  in  vigorous 
growth.  Several  bnnks  represent  the  wealth  of  the  village.  It  has  good  schools,  lioth 
public  and  private.  Of  the  latter,  Maplewood  Female  Seminary,  situated  upon  charminL' 
grounds,  has  won  a  fair  renown. 

Such  is  Pittsfield,  the  capital  of  the    Housatonic  Valley,  at  a  slight  external   giimcc. 
A   closer   view    would    reveal    more    tiian   ordinary   social    culture   among    its   inhabitan" 
Music  and   tiie   line   arts   have  their  hap])y  influence  there;   and  a  generously-endowed  in- 
stitution, known    and   incorporated  as  the  "  Berkshire   Athenaeum,"  ,.:   destined   to   be  an 
elevating  and  refining  power  in  the  community. 

Pittsfield  is  situated  at  an  average  elevation  of  nearly  eleven  huuvlred  feet  above  tiif 
sea.  Its  position  is  |)eculiar,  as  being  the  geographical  centre  of  valleys  and  dclilos. 
affording  opportunities  for  crossing  its  flanking  mountains  such  as  arc  found  at  no  otiicr 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    rOUSA  TONIC. 


3H 


c  water  -  |)o\vcr 
tlioujjli   slmiiik 

avails  to  furnish, 
to  which  the 
c'd  for  twcntv 
all  in  vifjorous 

)(1  schools,  lioth 
ujjon  charmiiiL' 

external   ^laiici'. 

its   inhabitair 

isly-cndowed  in- 

;tined   to   be  an 

il  feet  above  the 
leys  and  defiles, 
ind   at  no  <>thi'r 


single  jioint.  Pittslield  is  the  centre  of  perhaps  as  many  distinct  attractions  for  the  sum- 
mer tourist  as  any  other  Berkshire  village ;  and  its  growing  likeness  to  a  city  in  the 
spcriiil  facilities  it  affords — railway,  postal,  hotel,  shopping,  and  social — makes  it  an  excel- 
Itiu  place  for  the  headquarters  of  the  visitor  in  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  its  match- 
less shire. 

In  everv  direction  from  the  village,  fine,  natural  roads  lead  to  lovely  scenes.  The 
laconic  anu  ihe  Hoosac  ranges  of  mountains  are  about  four  miles  distant,  on  the  west 
and  e;ist  respectively;  and  from  their  slopes,  or  their  sutnmits,  Berkshire — both  Southern 
ami  .Northern — opens  broad  vistas  to  the  eye. 

Some  of  the  reaches  of  the  Housatonic  River  near  the  village  arc  of  great  beauty; 
ami  there  are  places  on  the  banks  of  its  eastern  confluent  where  it  would  be  meet  to 
sit,  ol  a  summer  eve,  and  read  or  quote  Tennyson's  dainty  rhymes  of  the  brook  that 
I     woulti  "  go  on  forever." 

One  of  the  fairest  views  in  all  the  county — the  especial  pride,  perhaps,  of  the  people 
of  Pittsfield,  as  it  well  may  be — is  that  which  takes  in  and  overpasses  the  exquisite  con- 
tour of  Onota  Lake,  two  miles  to  the  west.  This  view,  besides  its  immediate  loveliness, 
in  till'  silverv  sheen  of  its  waters,  and  the  sweet  variety  of  the  pastoral  and  wooded 
banks  that  environ  them,  has  for  its  central  but  n  tnote  background  the   splendid    outline 

of  old 

"  Graylock,  cloud-girdled  on  his  purple  throne." 

In  the  near  east  rises  the  fine  range  of  the  Washington  Hills,  of  the  Hoosac  Chain, 
over  which  the  Boston  Railway  is  carried  by  sharp  gradients  of  eighty  feet  in  a  mile. 
On  their  crest  is  a  romantic  lakeiet,  called  Ashley  Fond,  the  water  of  which  is  brought 
into  tlie  village — at  present  only  a  barely  a  lequatc  su])ply  for  its  demands,  but  soon  to 
be  rei-nforced  from  a  neighboring  pond,  a  recent  purchase  of  the  Pittsfield  (ias  and 
Water  Company. 

Roaring  Brook,  the  outlet  of  a  contiguous  pond,  is  a  wild  mountain-torrent  that 
dashes  down  the  side  of  the  mountain  in  a  rugged  cleft  known  as  Tories'  Gorge.  This 
brook  is  a  tributary  of  the  eastern  branch  of  the  Housatonic.  To  the  eastward,  also,  lies 
the  village  of  Dalton,  with  its  busy  paper-mills;  and  beyond  it,  on  the  acclivity  of  the 
Boston  Railway,  the  village  of  Hinsdale,  from  which  point,  as  also  from  Ualton,  the  very 
|irelt\-  Windsor  Falls  may  be  reached  by  a  brief  carriage-drive.  These  falls  lie  at  the 
extreme  limit  of  the  review  which  this  article  will  make  of  :he  Housatonic  V^illey.  Be- 
yonil  them  the  "winding  waters"  narrow  into  shining  becks  and  brawling  brooks,  and 
make  uj)  the  vision  pictured  by  Holmes  in  his  ])leasant  verses  of 

"...  the  stream  whose  silver-braided  rills 
Flinn  their  unL!aspin>,'  bracelets  from  the  hills. 
Till,  in  one  t^lcam  lieneath  tlie  forest-winjjs. 
Melts  the  white  (flitter  of  a  hundred   i.jrinns." 


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312 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


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11 


West  of  PittsCiekl,  beyond  Onota  already  named,  a  mountain-road  leads  across  flan- 
cock  Town  to  Lebanon  Springs,  and  to  the  village  of  the  Lebanon  Shakers,  affording, 
all  the  way,  lovely  prospects,  but,  from  its  highest  point,  a  scene  never  to  be  forgotten. 
It  takes  in  the  whole  expanse  of  the  sweet  vale  of  Lebanon,  and,  beyond  this,  stretches 
away  to  the  Catskills,  vague  and  violet-hucd. 

Northward  of  Onota,  on   the   slopes   of  the   Taconics,  are    found    delightful    bits  oi 


lluuiac    Kivrr,    Nurlli    AiLiin*. 


Nature- here,  «he  Lulu  Cascade,  a  mueh-fre(|uente(l  haunt  of  those  wlio  fain  would  fimi 
wiiere  the  "shy  arbutus"  hides;  there.  Rolling  Rock,  a  huge  and  nicely-poised  bowliKr, 
and  far  above  it.  on  the  table  of  a  giant  crest,  as  pretty  a  tnountain-lake  as  the  eve 
could  covet.  It  is  calUd  Ikrry  I'ond,  but  not  for  the  profusion  of  raspberries  lo  t"' 
found  there  in  suninier.     The  luime  is  said  to  be  that  of  a  stout-limbed  and  bravc-he.iittii 


THE     VALLEY    OF    TIIH    //OlSA  rON/C. 


313 


leads  across  Han. 

Shakers,  affording, 

to   be    forgotten. 

nnd  this,  stretches 

delightful    hits  o' 


fain  would  fiml 
-jMiised  howlder; 
l,d<i'  as  the  r\i 
a'-phrrries   to   Ik 

1  liravc  luaiitil 


Nnllirni    lliiilt;i',    Nmlli    AiI.thih. 

iriii  who  once  lived   nn    its    liorders,  aixi  wrested    from    the    Manlv  --oil    alioiit    the    pond 

a  livin>j;  for  hiinstlf  antl  family,      i'he  lakelet   has  crystal  waters,  a  sparkling,  sandy  beach, 

IS  fringed  bv  masses  of  evergreen  .iiid  deciduous  trees,  and  td  tluse  ih.irms  adds  that   ol 

ii  clear,  fairv-like  celn>  to  all  sounds  upon  its  margin. 

Northward  of    I'ittstield    lie    I'oiitoosuc,  a  populous  miil-suluirb,  .md    a    lake    bearing 
lit 


I  f 


i    ii 


314 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


i  J- 


its  name;  and,  three  miles  beyond,  old  Lanesboro'  is  reached  by  a  delightful  drive.     Here 

the  visitor  should  not  fail  to  make  a  slight  circuit,  and  gain,  either  afoot  or  in  a  carriage, 

the  summit  of  Constitution  Hill,  Iving  just  west  of  the  village  and  the  iron-furnace.    Of 

the  view  to  be  oi)tained   h^  this  excursion  let  a  resident  of   Berkshire,  and  a  contributor 

if 
to  .Vi'i'LirroNs'  Journal  of  some  popular  papers  on  the  glories  of  that  region,  afford  the 

reader  a  few  glimpses : 

"Though  y>)U  can  drive  to  the  very  summit  if  you  are- sure  of  your  horse,  you  will 
grow  dizzy  as  your  eye  rests  on  the  grand  prospect  outspread  before  you — green,  fertile 
valleys,  reminding  one  of  that  which  shut  in  the  happy  Rasselas;  blue  lakes;  Pontoosue 
at  your  feet,  Onota  fartjfer  siputh,  and  Silver  Lake  east  of  Pittsfield  ;  great  stretches  of 
table-land,  well  tilled,  and  spanned  by  shady  roads;  forests  that  look  as  old  as  creation, 
and  hills  mantled  with  a  fresher  growth  ;  the  line  of  rich  foliage  which  marks  the  course 
of  the  streams  that  unite  to  form  the  Housatonic;  Lanesboro'  basking  on  the  hill-side, 
with  its  great  elms  drooping  over  its  old  homesteads  and  quaint  road-comers ;  Stearns- 
ville  and  Barkersville,  farther  off;  the  whole  extent  of  the  chief  town  in  the  valley,  its 
s|)ires  gleaming  in  the  light ;  Lenox,  Lee,  and  Stockbridge,  through  the  opening  in  the 
hills;  sunny  farm-houses,  grazing  cattle,  browsing  sheep,  brown  grain-fields,  flying  cloud- 
shadows — and  all  domed  by  a  brighter  than  an    Italian  sky." 

riie  route  we  are  now  piusuing  is  aside  from  the  track  of  the  railway  which  con- 
nects I'ittsfield  with  .\dams  and  the  north  ;  and  the  true  tourist  would  greatly  prefer  to 
follow  its  rural  windings,  along  the  course  of  the  supposed  Ujiper  Housatonic,  now 
scarcely  more  thsovra  rapid,  laughing  brook,  sliding  along  under  its  aider  and  willow 
fringes.  A  few  miles  still  farther  north,  in  the  town  of  New  Ashford,  it  is  lost  in  silvcrv 
tlue.ids  from  the  hills.  The  road  from  the  "deserted  village"  of  New  Ashford  to  tin 
W'illiamstowns  is  solitarv,  but  beautiful,  with  its  ever-shifting  views  of  grand  mountain- 
outlines,  bringing  one  at  length  into  the  deep  shadows  and  sweet  repose  of  the  close- 
encompassing  hills  that  keep  solemn  watch  ami  ward  over  the  time-honored  sanctuaries 
of  wisdom  at  Williains  College. 

This  hasty  generalization  has  done  iio  justice  to  the  interval  of  twenty  miles  over 
which  we  have  glided  with  haste  that  would  be  impertinent,  if  these  notes  were  not 
necessarily  telegiapliie  lor  bievity.  Williamstown  is  a  unicjuc  and  delightful  village,  with 
a  green  ])aik  for  its  main  street,  and  the  s|)aikling,  huriving  lloosac  singing  along  its 
borders.  It  is  a  lit  place  for  study,  and  a  charming  one  for  summer  life  and  lecieation, 
though  liaidly  for  fashioi.able  dissipation,  to  which,  indeed,  its  vigilant  waidens  evernime 
oppose  their  classic  proail. 

X'isilors  at  Williamstown,  who  arc  familiar  with  Swiss  sceneiy,  are  wont  to  say  lliai 
till'  splindid  views  and  wonderful  atmosi)heric  effects  they  .sec  there  more  nearly  resemlile 
Alpine  pictures  than  those  of  an\    other  mountain-reces,ses  in  this  land. 

Our  piomise,  in  the  opening  of  this   sketch,  that  il   would  carry  the    reader   Iwyoiul 


THE    J 'ALLEY    OF    THE    HO  US  A  TO  NIC. 


315 


rcadt-r   l)f\(iiul 


the  [lousatonic  \"alley, 
has  been  fullilled.  He  is 
now  in  the  valley  of  the 
Hoosae,  and  not  far  from 
the  termination  of  these 
autumn  rambles. 

Wiiocver  follows  the 
railway  from  Pittsfield  to 
tiii.;  region  passes  twen- 
is  miles  through  a  coun- 
try contrasting  strangely 
with  tlie  deep  rural  isola- 
tion of  that  just  glimpsed 
aloiiir  the  by-road  through 
Xew  Ashford.  It  is  a 
tract  of  new  activities  and 
industries,  of  glass  -  fur- 
naces and  sand -quarries, 
of  lumbcr-iMills  and  cot- 
ton -  looms,  of  woollen- 
mills  and  populous  ham- 
lets—in  succession,  Berk- 
shire, Cheshire,  South 
Adams,  until  he  comes 
at  last  to  North  Adains, 
where  he  will  wonder 
more  and  more,  as  more 
he  seis,  how  so  large  and 
flourishing  and  ambitious 
a  town  has  contrived  to 
find  "room  and  verge 
inoiigh "  amid  the  en- 
compassing, encroaching, 
overhanging  hills,  for  its 
"'liady,  sturdy  growth. 

It  is  a  pushing  rival 
of  I'ittsfield  ;   behind  it,  probably,  in  general,  but   making  well-founded   boast  of  excelling 
't    in    the  value  of  its   school-|)ro|)erty,  a;,    it    does   eipiallv   in   the  cost    and    elegance  of 
Its  chief  hotel,  which  would   be  a  credit    to  anv  citv.      North   Adams  is  a   rich  manidact- 


3i6 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Hoosac  Mountain  and   Tunnel  Works. 

uring   village,  where   "  Chinese 
cheap  labor "  lias   been   a   spe- 
cialty and    a   success   for   years    in   the 
shoe-sho|is.     It  is  the  upper  "  metropo- 
lis" of   Ik-rkshire,  and    is   more  thickly 
studded  about  with   wild  and  romantic 
spots    than    its   southern  sister.     Gray- 
lock,  the    loftiest    mountain    in    Massachusetts,  is  within  easy  distance,  though  not  visible 
from    its    streets.      It    is  perhaps   more  easily  reached  from    South  /Vdams,  a  less  bustling 
village,  four  miles  below,  whence   the   commanding   summit   may.  be  seen  in  all  its  royal 
pomp,  rising  majestically  just  over  its  pleasant  homes. 

This  is  the  less  piciures(|uc,  however,  of  the  two  or  three  routes  by  which  the  top 
of  Graylock  may  be  reached.  The  mountain  exercise  already  taken  by  the  Housatonic 
e.\i)lorer,  when  he  comes  within  the  shadows  of  Graylock,  will  stand  him  in  stead  as  he 
contemplates  the  conquest  of  the  kingly  heigiit.  It  is  no  child's  play,  especially  if  lu 
chooses  the  North-Adams  and  Bald-Mounlain  route,  by  that  mounta'n-cluster,  the  "  Hi>p- 
pjt."  All  the  roads  need  great  improvement,  and  there  should  be  one,  at  least,  kept  in 
excellent  condition.  But  there  is  no  reaching  the  top  without  toil,  without  fatigue — no 
"  royal  road,"  though  the  end  of  the  way  is  most   royal. 

When  (irayloek,  and    the    Ilop|)er,  and  Money   Urook,  have    been    explored — or   !)e- 


THE    \' ALLEY    OF    THE    HOUSA  TONIC. 


317 


oii^li  not  visiltle 

i,  a  less  bustlinjr 

in  all  its  mval 

which    the   lop 

the  Ilousatonic 
in  stead  as  iu' 

especially  if  he 
islor,  the  "  Hop- 
It    least,  kept  in 

nut  fatigue— no 

\|i|()red — or   lie 


tweeii  these  explorations,  as  separate  adventures — there  arc  dainty  and  most  compensating 
"bits"  about  North  Adams,  which  should  not  be  left  unseen.  Some  of  these  lie  close 
about  that  curious  object,  the  Natural  Bridge,  a  rare  freak  of  the  waters  of  a  pretty 
brook  among  the  rocks — itself  a  scene  for  the  painter,  as  it  and  it;'  accessories  so  com- 
monly arc  for  the  photographer.  The  Natural  Bridge  is  a  vast  roof  of  marble,  through 
and  under  which  a  mere  brook  has  yet  contrived,  with  incessant,  fretting  toil,  to  excavate 
a  tunnel — a  passage  five  or  six  yards  wide,  and  ten  times  as  long.  This  wonderful  via- 
duct is  loftily  arched  over  the  torrent,  and  displays  its  marble  sides  and  ceiling  some- 
times of  a  pure  white,  but  oftener  with  strange  discolorations,  as  of  mineral  stains  or 
lichen -growths.  Through  ibis  weird  corridor  the  brook  flows  with  thunderous  echoes, 
booming  up  to  the  ear  and  filling  the  mind  of  the  beholder  with  strange,  wild  fancies. 

In  the  ravine  of  this  brook  there  are  many  picturesque  points  to  arrest  the  tourist's 
aitention,  but  next  in  interest  to  the  bridge  itself  is  a  strange,  columnar  group  of  rocks, 
which  at  its  overhanging  crest  assumes,  to  a  fiicile  imagination,  the  aspect  of  gigantic 
features,  and  bears,  therefore,  the  appellation  of  Profile  Rock.  These  and  other  scenes 
are  within  a  mile  or  two  of  the  village,  where  there  will  he  found  inducements  for  more 
than  ordinary  lingering,  and  still  more  reluctant  leave-taking,  on  the  part  of  the  visitor. 
Those  who  have  enjoyed  the  magnificence  and  varied  charms  of  the  eight-mile  coach  or 
carriage  drive  from  North  Adams  to  the  east  end  of  the  great  Hoosac  Tunnel,  during 
its  long  working,  will  doubtless  almost  lament  that  it  is  now  an  accomplished  fact, 
because  the  splendid  road  across  the  great  Hoosacs  will  now  be  no  more  needed,  and  will 
very  likely  fall  into  disrepair,  thus  spoiling  a  most  unique  and  almost  unparalleled  moun- 
tain-ride. That  road  climbs  the  Hoosacs  by  easy-returning  gradients,  affording  all  the 
uav  u|),  and  across,  ami  down  on  tiie  east  slope,  marvellously-fine  prospects.  The  west 
moulb  of  the  tunnel  is  t)nly  two  miles  from  Noith  Adams,  and  lies  amid  the  picturesque 
scenery  of  the  Hoosac  Valley,  and  full  in  front  of  tne  monarch  of  the  Berkshire  hills. 

The  Hoosac  Tunnel  is  a  bold  and  fortunate  feat  of  engineering  skill.  Second  in 
length  only  *o  the  famous  Mont-Cenis  Tunnel  under  the  Alps,  it  pierces  the  solid  mica- 
ceous slate  of  the  Hoosac  Range  with  a  grand  artery  nearly  five  miles  in  length,  and  thus 
opens,  after  incredible  toil  and  immense  outlay,  a  railway-passage  between  Boston  and 
tlie  Hudson  River,  about  ten  miles  shorter  than  any  preexisting"  route.  I-ong  before 
these  pages  have  reached  their  final  numbering,  this  tunnel,  already  o|)en  from  end  to 
end,  will  be  the  scene  of  swift  and  multitudinous  transit  for  passenger  and  freight  trains 
speeding  between  the  Atlantic  and  the   Pacific  Oceans. 

Upon  that  busy  and  tireless  flow  and  ebb  of  life  and  labor,  old  Graylock,  and  his 
compeers  of  the  Taconic  and  Hoosac  Ranges,  will  U)ok  down  as  peacefully  as  they  did 
upon  the  turmoil  and  trouble  and  disaster  with  which  the  western  end  of  the  vast  work 
was  wrought  to  proud  completeness,  adding  something  to  the  physical  and  moral,  if  not 
to  the  natural,  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the   Beikshire  hills. 


i 


.       ,!'' 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI,    EROM    ST.    LOUIS    TO    ST 

ANTHONY'S    EALLS. 

WITH       I  I.  I.  I-  S  T  U  A  T  I  O  N  S      I!  V       A  1,  K  R  K  I)       K.       W  A  U  U . 


Graiuirowtr    Rock,    l)elow    Si.    Louis. 


'■M 


I\  tlic  description  of  American  scenery  the  Mississippi  River,  as  of  royal  rij^ht,  claims 
a  leadinii  |)lact'.  It  is  our  Nile,  our  mvthic  stream,  with  which  are  connected  all  the 
^rolden-hued  tales  of  the  early  travellers.  Monsters  like  Scylla,  whirlpools  like  Charvb- 
dis,  were  reported  to  lurk  in  its  waters,  eager  to  seize  upon  the  canoes  of  adventurous 
travellers,  and  drajr  them  below  its  whelming  Hood.  The  voices  of  spirits— messdigers 
of  the  awful  Man-i-tou— reverberated  from  bluff  to  bluff,  or  issued  with  grewsome  souiui 
from  the  dismal  evergreens  of  its  southern  banks.  The  tribes  that  hunted  on  its  border- 
ing  prairies  were  cannibals,  false  in  friendship,  implacable  in  war,  having  the  tomahawk 
ever  brandisiied,  and   the  arrow-point   i)oisoned.      But,  if  there  were  these  dreadful  thin?:- 


THE    I'P/'/iR    .]f/SS/SS//>/'/. 


319 


TO    ST. 


al  riglit,  claims 
niK'ctcd  all  the 
like  Chanli- 
of  advcntuiuus 
Its — mcsscnjivrs 
rowsome  soumi 
on  its  boidtr- 
tlie  tomaliawk 
(lieadful  thiiifis 


to  encounter,  there  were  also  prizes  worth  tiie  vvinniiiir.  Tlicrc  were  rctjions  entirely  of 
lloucrs,  where  the  foot  crushed  at  every  movement  the  rarest  lilossoms;  there  were 
nodks  inhahitcd  by  fairy  beings  of  extreme  beauiv,  and  promj)!  to  form  the  tendcrcst 
connections  with  the  iirave  knights  who  dared  all  dangers  to  se 'k  them.  These  were, 
like  tiie  gardens  of  the  enchantress  Armida,  of  supernatural  l)eaut\,  tinted  i)v  a  purple 
irlaniour  that  was  akin  to  the  atmos])here  of  Paradise.  The  blooms  never  faded,  the  turf 
never  withered,  the  trees  never  shed  their  leaves,  in  these  bowers  of  enchantment— these 
jrraeious  climes,  where  all  was  well.  In  the  midst  of  this  happy  laud  was  a  golden  foun- 
tain, in  whose  waters  whosoever  bathed  issued  forth  restored  to  his  first  railiant  \f)uth. 
The  wrinkles  upon  the  brow  faded  away;  the  thin  cheek  became  jtlump  and  rounded; 
the  shrunken  limbs  resumed  their  graceful  outlines ;  the  i^-w  grav  locks  that  straggled 
over  the  worn  brow  were  at  once  lu.xuriant  and  golden,  or  jett\'  black,  or  silky  brown. 
Here  was  the  material  paradise,  here  the  rest  so  dear  to  the  wand^Mcr,  here  that  jierfect 
calm  which  the  unquiet  heart  seeks  and  shall  fmd  only  in  heaven.  Whatever  the  spirit 
lonsied  for  unavailingly  was  said  to  exist  iiere,  in  the  region  of  the  Miclicscpc.  Expe- 
dition after  expedition,  under  Spanish  auspices,  struck  out  from  I'lorida  to  hnd  the 
unknown  land,  watched  over  by  ampler,  bluer  skies  than  had  been  known  to  mortals. 
While  De  Soto  discovered  the  river  in  the  south,  the  fnst  white  men  who  reached 
its    niiithern    |)ortion    were    two    Frenchmen    from    the    North   —  {'atlier    Manpiette    'md 


1    ' . 
!    t 


f     'i 


Devil's    BacklKinCt   below    St.    Louis. 


■tPPPVPPPWPMMBS' 


Hil^lHHIi 


mmf 


ii  % 


iiil  L 


■Ji. 


■  'V       .    A;. 


4- 


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■m 


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•\i 


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ii: 


rr 


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4 


■>i? 


(  M 


*c 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI. 


321 


M.  [oliot,  a  trader ;  and  the  first  who  descended  its  course  from  its  region  of  ice 
to  where  its  waters  swell  the  tropic  wave  w^s  the  Chevalier  de  la  Salle,  a  man  cast 
in  a  niQSt  heroic  mould.  Father  Marc  uettc  descended  the  Wisconsin  in  June,  1673; 
and,  'jn  the  3d  day  of  July,  his  canoe  'floated  on  the  rippling  waves  of  the  great 
river.  It  was  then  truly  virgin.  The  red-men  lived  on  the  prairies  that  here  and 
tluMC  break  through  the  solemn  regularity  of  its  limestone  walls  in  the  northern 
part,  or  in  .  he  wide  savannas  that  lie  behind  ihe  densely-wooded  banks  of  i's  south- 
ern region.  They  were  by  no  means  uniform  in  character  •  or  in  degree  of  civiliza- 
tion. Some  not  only  hunted  and  fished,  but  applied  themselves  to  a  rude  agriculture, 
and  spun  a  coarse  cloth,  making  no  trade  of  war,  but  simjjly  repelling  the  attacks  of 
more  iVrocious  neighbors.  There  were  others  who  lived  only  for  battle,  and  whose  glory 
consisted  in  the  number  of  the  scalp-locks  which  adojUied  theif  wigwams.  Neither  was 
their  speech  uniform.  Besides  the  great  variety  of  disikcts  which  follows  necessarily  from 
the  immense  local  change.'  of  unwritten  tongues,  there  wore  -two  great  languages  alto- 
gether dissimilar.  These  tilings  were  noted  by  the  good  -Frenc|i»  priest  as  the  i.'pid  eur- 
leiit  hore  him  down  the  stream  ;  but,  unfortunately,  those  ^vho  followed  after  cared 
nothing  for  philology,  and  modern  science  now  deplores  vainly  the  absence  of  data  on 
which  to  found  any  general  conclusions  concerning  the  peoples  of  this  great  region,  who 
have  now  entirely  disa])peared.  Their  i)lace  has  been  taken  bv  the  thrifty  and  energetic 
pale-faces,  who  have  made  the  Mississippi's  borders  a  long  succession  of  smiling  fields 
and  cheerful  habitations,  and  who  ha\e  built  up  great  cities,  destined  to  be  in  the  future 
wliat  Xinex-eh  and    Hab3lon  were  to  Asia. 

The  scope  of  this  article  is  confined  (with  the  exception  of  two  illustrations  of 
striking  scenes  below  the  city)  to  the  Upper  Mississippi,  frrmi  St.  Louis  to  the  I'alls  of 
■St.  .\MthoMy.  It  is  easier  to  describe  the  ascent  of  the  river  than  its  descent,  both  be- 
cansc  I  lie  traveller  generally  takes  the  steamboat  from  St.  Louis  up  to  St.  I'aul,  and 
lu'cui'-e  there  is  a  natural  climax  ol  beauty  in  the  scenery  in  this  way.  Near  .St.  Louis 
the  views,  it  must  be  eonfi  ssed,  offer  little  that  is  admirai)le  to  the  gaze.  As  we  a.scend 
iiiu.nil  Keokuk,  the  landscajie  becomes  l)older  and  more  striking;  between  Keokuk  and 
DiiluKluc  it  still  becomes  more  and  Uiore  giand ;  from  l)ului()ue  to  Tiem|Maleau  the 
.iilvantages  of  Nature  aro  still  more  enhanced;  the  scenery  of  Lake  i'epin  still  strikes  an 
.iseiwling  chord,  until  «  etilminati(»n  of  the  beautiful  is  rcaciied  in  Ihe  Falls  of  St.  An- 
ihoMV  and  Minnthaha.  It  is  better,  therefore,  to  lead  the  readi  1  on  from  that  \vhieh 
interests  but  slightlv  to  things  that  fairly  enchain  and  enchant,  than  to  cnmienci'  with 
the  beautiful  and  simmer  slowly  down  into  the  absolutely  prosai-:.  We  will,  theiefore, 
lie^rin  with  S».  Louis  (with  a  glance  or  two  at  the  high  bluffs  that  are  found  below  the 
citv),  promising  that  the  pilots  consider  this  city  the  termination  of  the  Upper  Missis- 
sippi, the  region  between   .St.  Louis  and   New  ( )rle  ns  constituting  the  lower  river.     The 

city  "f  St.  Louis  disputes  with  Chicago  the  title  of  Metropolis  of  the  West.     lUit,  unlike 

in 


^^ 


r, 


J 

•     -       T- 

4 

1                , 

(   - ; 

^       "^  I  till.  I r, It/  /ftfUif 


t>  I        LOUIS. 


1  . 


jf/Mi  J^fa/er«wA 


ru  £/tf0^r- 


SCENES    IN    ar     LOUM. 


f  ■:  ■- 


324 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


its  great  rival,  its  history  dates  hack  to  an  early  period  in  American  history.  It  was 
settled  in  1762,  by  the  French;  in  1764  its  inhabitants  numbered  one  hundred  and 
twenty  all  told,  while  its  population  to-day  is  believed  to  be  nearly  three  hundred  and 
fifty  thousantl.  The  city  is  situated  on  the  west  bank  of  the  river,  on  a  bluff  elcattd 
above  the  Hoods  of  the  stream.  It  is  built  on  two  terraces,  the  first,  or  lower,  risinir 
abruptly  ai)Out  twenty  feet  from  the  ri\er,  and  the  second  making  a  more  gradual  ascent 
of  forty  feet  from  the  lower,  and  spreading  out  into  a  wide  and  beautiful  plain.  The 
corporate  limits  of  the  city  extend  over  six  miles  along  the  river,  and  from  tinec  to 
four  miles  back  of  it.  The  older  streets  are  narrow,  but  the  new  avenues  are  wide,  and 
those  in  the  resident  portions  lined  with  elegant  mansions.  The  ])ublie  buildings  arc 
imposing,  the  warehouses  handsome,  the  public  parks  singularly  beautiful.  Among  ijic 
Aimous  places  are  Shaw's  (jarden,  with  an  extensive  botanical  garden  and  conservatorv, 
and  the  Fair-Grounds.  The  I'^iir-Grounds  arc  made  the  object  of  special  care  and  culti- 
vation, supplying  in  a  measure  the  want  of  a  large  public  park.  With  an  amphitheatre 
capable  of  seating  twenty  thousand  persons,  an  area  of  over  forty  acres,  tilled  with  ciuiito 
shrubbery,  artificial  lakes,  fountains,  rustic  bowers,  and  numerous  handsome  structures  fur 
the  exhibition  of  goods,  it  is  one  of  the  institutions  of  which  St.  Louis  is  justly  proud. 
Shaw's  Gardens  are  a  munificent  gift  bv  a  wealthy  citizen  to  the  public.  Here  is  yatli- 
ered  every  variety  of  tree,  shrub,  antl  jilant,  that  can  be  grown  in  this  country  by  natural 
or  artificial  means.  St.  Louis  is  destined  for  a  great  future.  The  magnificent  bridge  just 
completed,  one  of  the  largest  and  handsomest  in  the  world,  over  which  all  the  trains 
fiom  the  East  directly  enter  the  city,  will  have  a  great  effect  upon  its  fortunes.  One 
distinguishing  feature  of  the  city  is  the  number  of  huge  steamboats  that  line  its  levee; 
but  this  feature  is  scarcely  so  notable  now  as  it  was  a  generation  ago,  before  raihoads 
had  competed  with  steamboats  for  freight  and  passenger  traflic.  The  steamers  of  the 
largest  class  descend  the  river  to  New  Orleans ;  smaller  ones  of  light  draught  ascc ml 
the  Missouri  almost  to  the  mountains,  anil  the  Mississippi  to  the  I'alls  of  St.  Anthony. 
Taking  our  passage-tickets  on  one  of  the  handsomely-fitted  steamers  that  ply  between 
St.  Louis  and  St.  Paul  for  at  least  seven  months  in  the  year,  the  upjier  river  iK-ini; 
closed  from  the  middle  of  November  to  the  middle  of  .\|)ril  by  ice,  we  turn  our  b.ieks 
upon  St.  Louis,  its  shot-towers  and  elevators,  its  high  church-spires,  and  the  magniliciut 
cupola  of  its  capitol.  The  hanks  are  low  on  each  side — rather  higher  on  the  west — anil 
of  a  sandy  brown.  The  aspects  arc  by  no  means  pictures(iue,  anil  the  junction  of  (lie 
Missouri  and  the  Mississippi  is  not  accompanied  by  any  features  of  striking  be.uity. 
The  city  of  Alton,  about  three  miles  above  this  junction,  is  i)erched  u|)on  a  grand  lime- 
stone-bluff, neatly  two  hundred  feet  high,  and  of  a  uniform  light-brown  color.  There  is 
a  tradition  that  there  were  Indian  pitintings  here,  but  they  have  disappeared,  if  they  ever 
existed.  One  notices  here  that  the  water  is  much  bluer  than  it  was  at  St.  Louis,  ,iiul 
that   the   islands  which   everywhere    dot    the    broad   current    have   a   look  of  greater  aj^c 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI. 


325 


Those  below  seem  to  have  formed  themselves  within  a  few  months,  and  the  hasty  vege- 
tation on  them  confirms  the  impression.  But  here  we  have  the  common  willow,  and 
occasionally  the  maple,  both  growing  to  a  respectable  height. 

As  we  proceed    upward!  the  bluffs  become  more  numerous,  and  at  Keokuk  begin  to 
gain   liie    appearance    of   a    range    of   hills    with    sloping    ravines    between.      One    might 


(ilutlji   01     Islets. 

iiiiiumc  thai  the  countrv  in  the  rear  was  of  the  level  of  the  river,  or  nearly  so;  but  it 
^  not  so,  for  tile  tops  df  the  bhiffs  arc  on  a  line  with  the  prairie-land  beyond.  The  city 
I'f  Keokuk  is  on  the  western  bank,  in  the  Slate  of  Iowa;  and  the  cilv  of  Warsaw,  in 
Illinois,  is  opposite  to  it.  Close  to  Warsaw  the  Desmoines  Uivcr  falls  into  the  Missis- 
sippi, forming  what  are  known  as  the  Desmoines  Rapids.      It    is   only  in  the  (all  of   the 


!!i:. 


''^•wmmi'^.^r'r- 


:^;miw^w»uij«tu!,|  ',;,«^-ir.S?^-'^15fW55W^ 


1         i 


! 


i      ^  '   'i 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI. 


327 


year  that  these  are  perceptible,  and  at  that  season  they  offer  some  hinderance  to  freight- 
boats,  hut  the  packet-steamers  pass  through  the  troubled  waters  without  the  least  difii- 
cultv.  The  scenery  at  this  point  begins  to  give  a  promise  of  what  awaits  the  tourist 
hjo-hcr  up.  The  stream  is  of  a  deep-blue  color,  or  rather  appears  so  from  contrast  with 
the  limestone-bluffs  on  each  side.  The  islands  begin  to  be  more  and  more  numerous. 
Sometimes  tlicre  are  clusters  of  islets,  only  a  few  rods  in  extent,  close  to  the  bank — 
forming,  as  it  were,  a  bttle  archi|)elago.  The  stream,  in  these  sequestered  nooks,  loses 
the  steady  strength  of  its  current,  and  seems  to  linger  with  fondness  amid  the  pleasing 
scenes.     The  edges  of  the  isles  are  fringed  with  broad-leaved  rushes,  and  often  with    the 


Old    Arsenal,    Knik    Island. 


purple  iris.  Lilies  spread  their  broati,  green  pads  over  the  smooth  water,  presenting  every 
variety  of  blossom,  fullv  opened,  half  opened,  just  opening,  and  simply  in  the  bud.  There 
arc  also  the  bright-yellow  tluwers  of  the  water-bean.  In  such  spots  as  tiiis  the  tieis  upon 
the  islands  attain  cpiite  a  res|>ectable  growth,  the  cotton-woods  especially  becoming  ver)' 
tall.  Nearest  the  water's  edge  one  sees  generally  willows  and  scrub-oak,  the  latter  grow- 
injr  very  thick  and  bushv.  Tlu'ii-  is  generallv.  at  the  extremity  of  llu'  islands,  a  long 
spilt  of  clear,  white  sand,  which  will  grow  into  other  islands  if  the  current  does  not 
wash  it  away,  which,  however,  it  is  sure  to  do  sooner  or  later.  I'ew  can  be  consid- 
ercii   permanent  ;   some  only  flourish  for  a  few  brief  years,  ami    then    are    washed    away ; 


.*! 


'r  'i 


I.  ]' 

5 

a         '  ■     ! 


32t 


P/C  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


but  there  are  others,  whicli  have  been  formed  near  the  sliore,  which  become  protected 
by  sand-bars,  and  llourish  exceedinjrly,  until  some  sudden  thaw  in  the  spring  sends 
down    an    avalanche   of   floating    ice,   and    whelms    them    utterly. 

Leaving  behind    Kcidcuk, 


the  steamer  resumes  its  irlld- 
ing  motion  oxer  the  "^xntlc 
Mississippi,  and  the  never- 
ending  panorama  of  water. 
islands,  and  liluffs,  rtcdiii- 
menees.  ^About  se\'ent\-  iiiik'- 
higher  up,  the  Iowa  River 
joins  the  stream,  cominu  in 
on  the  left  hand.  Fifty  miles 
of  the  same  identical  scenerv, 
without  a  change,  brings  tiic 
traveller  to  t)ne  of  tiie  leu 
features  of  this  part  of  the 
river.  Most  of  the  islands  in 
the  Mississippi  are  tcnipdnirv 
formations  of  sand  ;  in  fm. 
there  are  but  tinee  of  rcick; 
and  we  have  now  couk-  to 
the  largest  and  the  most  iiii- 
|)ortant,  named  Rock  Island. 
It  is  three  iViilis  loiiii',  and 
has  an  area  of  nearly  a  thou- 
sand acres,  the  greater  pan  ol 
which  is  cleared,  the  lest  heini; 
covered  with  line  forest-trees. 
The  soil  is,  of  course,  lime- 
stone, and  has  been  utilized  for 
building  government  fortifica- 
tions and  arsenals  of  (piite  a 
formidable  character.  Tin  old 
arsenal,  of  which  a  sketch  is 
presented,  was  at  (Jiie  lime  the 


rh^^f^y 


Forrest- Roads,    Kock    Isliiti'l. 


headquarters  of  the  famous  (leneral  Scott  during  the  IMack-IIawk  War.  This  has  liaii: 
been  abandoned,  and  has  been  replaced  by  limestone  structures  of  the  most  endiiiinij 
character;   for  heie  the   I  iiited  States  has  its  armory  headquarters,  and    the  whole    islnul 


>ecome    prottctcd 
the    spring    slikIs 

behind    Keokuk, 
resumes   its   ^Hd. 
over    the    ocntlc 
and     the     nrver- 
irama     of     water 
bluffs,     rixdiii- 
)iit   seventy  niili', 
he     Iowa     Riwi 
ream,   coming   in 
and.     Mfty  mils 
identical  seeiun. 
ange,    brings  tiiu 
:)ne    of    the    few 
his    ])art    of   ilu' 
of  the  islands  in 
li    are    teni|)(inin 
sand  ;     in    fui 
three   of   Kick: 
now    eonir    tn 
d  the   most   iiii- 
d    Rock    Ishiiul. 
lilc's    lonjr,  and 
nearly  a  ihou- 
.yrealer  pan  ol 
,  the  rest  luiim 
me    fo rest -t rets, 
if    course,   limc- 
)een  utilized  for 
iment    fortifica- 
lals  of  (piitc  a 
acter.     TUv  old 
h    a   sketch   is 
I   one  time  ihc 
This  has  !(.nf; 
nost    endiiiiiii;' 
whole    isl.iiu! 


m 


im 


330 


PIC  TURESQ UE    AMERICA. 


has  been  developed,  until  it  resembles,  in  the  beauty  of  its  drives  and  its  military  liuiid- 
ings,  the  station  of  West  Point,  on  the  Hudson,  where  the  great  military  school  of  the 
nation  is  quartered.  On  the  eastern  bank,  in  Illinois,  is  the  eity  of  Rock  Island.  Op. 
posite  to  it,  on  the  other  shore,  is  the  eity  of  Davenport,  in  the  State  of  Iowa.  Tlicse 
are  both  connected  with  the  island  by  bridges,  tiirough  which  steamers  pass  by  means 
of  draws.  These  briilges  were  the  fust  that  sjjanned  the  Mississijipi,  and  they  nut  in- 
tense opposition  from  the  steamboat-men,  who  hired  gangs  of  desperadoes  to  burn  ilicni 
down  as  fast  as  the  workmen  erected  them.  But  at  last  the  cause  of  order  triumpliLci, 
and  the  river-men  consented  to  an  act  which  they  declared  would  forever  ruin  the  com- 
merce of  the  ri\er.  A  candid  and  impartial  mind  will  be  forced  to  admit  that  tliu 
steamboat-party  were  not  altogether  in  the  wrong,  for  Nature  here  has  done  so  much  tu 
obstruct  navigation  by  rapids  that  the  draw-bridges  were  really  like  putting  the  last  straw 
on  the  camel's  back.  So  powerful  are  the  rapids  here  that  in  the  fall  freight-boats  are 
sometimes  prevented  altogether  from  ascending,  and  it  is  easy  to  see  that  there  miglit  i)e 
seasons  of  water  when  a  \ery  little  thing,  such  as  the  draw-bridges,  would  be  sufficient 
to  turn  the  scale  against  the  boats.  The  passenger-packets  feel  the  difficulty,  but  in  ,i 
far  less  degree.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that,  within  a  {c\\  years,  the  railways  will  be  com- 
pelled to  pattern  after  the  great  St.-Louis  Bridge  invented  by  Captain  James  Eads,  in 
which  spans  of  cast-steel  give  an  uninterrupted  opening  of  over  five  hundred  feet. 

From  the  moment  that  we  strike  the  rajjids,  we  begin  to  notice  a  change  in  tiie 
bluffs.  They  arc  less  hillv  than  heretofore,  and  they  begin  to  become  more  like  Cyclo- 
pean walls;  their  heigiit,  also,  is  greatly  increased,  and  they  are  much  ligliter  in  color. 
The  fust  effect  ujion  the  mind  is  unquestionably  grand.  The  enormous  masses  of  stone, 
which  in  their  stratification  resemble  masonry,  cannot  but  deeply  impress  the  belioKlcr. 
(3nc  marvels  at  the  extraordinary  regularity  of  the  lines,  and  the  conclusion  conies 
upon  one  with  irresistible  force  that  there  was  a  time  when  the  water  was  on  a  level 
with  these  walls,  three  hundred  feet  high,  and  that  the  regular  action  of  the  river  has 
exposed  their  strata  with  this  seemingly  strange  uniformity.  The  Mississippi  must  l)e 
here  about  two  miles  wide,  and  is  full  of  islands,  which  j)resent  every  variety  of  form  in 
their  masses  of  vegetation.  The  water,  on  a  fine  summer's  day,  is  perfectly  clear,  per- 
fectly smooth,  and  all  the  indentations  in  the  rocks,  every  streak  of  brown  upon  tlie 
whitish-gray  sides,  every  boss  protruding,  every  tuft  of  grass  that  has  gained  footiiij;, 
every  bush  upon  the  slope  at  the  base,  every  tree  on  the  summit,  are  pictured  in  the 
cool  shadows  with  imdeviating  fidelity.  There  is  a  mingling  of  the  ideas  of  grandeur 
witli  those  of  rest  and  peace  and  happiness,  which  is  inexpressibly  pleasant;  and  there 
are  k-w  things  in  life  more  agreeable  than  to  sit  on  the  upper  deck  and  watch  the 
panorama  that  the  river  offers.  liverywhere  one  gets  delicious  effects,  specially  wlure  a 
curve  in  the  river  brings  the  trees  of  the  islands  sharply  against  the  light  backgrouiul 
of  the  bluffs,  or  where   the    limestone-walls,  receding,  leave  the  islands  in  the  centre,  and 


military  liuild- 
^  school  of  the 
c    Island     Op- 
:    Iowa.     These 
pass   by  nu'iins 
\   they  met   in- 
s  to  burn  tiicm 
irder  triumplied, 
r  ruin  the  corn- 
admit    that   the 
)nc  so  mucli  tu 
y  the  last  si  raw 
freight-boats  are 
there  migiu  he 
Id    be   sufficient 
ficulty,  but  in  a 
ys  will  be  corn- 
James  Eads,  in 
Ired  feet, 
change    in   the 
ore  like   C'ydo- 
igliter   in   color. 
lasses  of  stone, 
s  the   beholiler. 
nclusion    comes 
as    on    a    level 
the    river   has 
ssi]ipi    must    l)e 
ietv  of  form  in 
c'ctly  clear,  per- 
)wn    upon    the 
gained    foolinij, 
lictured    in   the 
as   of  gran(K'ur 
tnt ;   and  there 
md    watch    the 
ecially  whciv  a 
ht    backgromui 
the  centre,  and 


■'    ^ 


!lii| 


Ir 


■4' 


i 

m 


33a 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


the  topb  of  the  cotton-woods  are  defined  upon  the  blue  sky.  Nature  harmonizes  lier 
blues  and  greens,  if  artists  cannot.  Then,  it  is  ])Ieasant  to  watcii  the  working  of  licr 
general  law  in  the  iiilis  themselves.  Sometimes,  indeed,  we  see  bluffs  unsujiported ;  Imt 
almost  invariably  there  is  a  noble,  perpendicular  wall  for  two-thirds  of  the  descent,  and  a 
great,  slo|)ing  buttress  of  fragments  for  the  remainder.     It  is  on  the  latter  that  vegetation 

thrives,  though  here  and 
there  we  come  to  lon^' 
stretches  of  bluffs  tliat 
are  made  reddish  brown 
in  color  b\'  a  covering 
of  minute  lichen. 

As  we  approach 
Dubuque,  three  hundred 
and  sixty  miles  from  St. 
Louis,  the  rocks  h^g\w 
to  be  castellated,  and. 
probably  from  some  soft- 
ness in  the  limestone, 
to  be  worn  into  varied 
shapes.  But  the  full  ex- 
tent of  this  pecuiiaiitv 
is  not  seen  uniil  0110 
passes  Dubuque.  Below 
that  point  the  change  is 
mostly  manifested  in  the 
appearance  of  l)road 
ledges  at  tiie  top,  that 
look  like  cornices,  and 
in  an  occasional  frag- 
ment of  perpendicular 
structure,  to  both  of 
which  forms  waving 
weeds  and  the  long  ten- 
drils of  wild-vines  add  a  peculiar  grace.  At  Dubuque  the  bluffs  are  nearly  three  hun- 
dred feet  high,  but  they  do  not  come  sheer  down  to  the  water's  edge,  as  at  Alton,  luir 
is  there  a  long,  sloping  buttress;  but  at  the  base  there  is  a  broad  level,  about  sixteen 
feet  above  the  Mississippi.  On  this  plateau  are  all  the  business-houses,  the  hotels,  and 
the  factories.  Above,  connected  with  paths  that  have  been  cut  through  the  solid  lime- 
stone, are  the  streets  of  the  dwelling-houses. 


A    Cross-Street    in    Dubuque. 


THE    UPPER    M/SSISS/PPI. 


333 


The  approaches  to  these  upper  houses  are  mostly  l)y  stairs  that  niij/ht  easily  be  called 
ladders,  without  exposing  one  tt)  a  charge  of  being  sarcastic ;  but  it  is  worth  the  trouble 
of  mounting  these  ladders  a  few  times  evMy  day,  to  have  such  a  landscape  unrolled  before 
the  eye.  There  is  a  stretch  of  bare,  sandy  island  in  the  centre  of  the  river,  across  which 
conies  the  railway-bridge  of  the  Illinois  Central  Railroad.  There  is,  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  island,  a  large  shot-factory,  and  close  to  it  the  shot-tower,  which  darts  up  into 
the  l)lue  sky  like  a  light  llame.  Beyond  rise  the  'oluffs  of  the  eastern  shore,  which  here 
are  \erv  hilly,  and  present  beautiful  contrasts  of  green  verdure  with  glaring  white.  The 
tops  of  many  are  quite  covered  with  a  dense  vegetation.      Far    l)eyond   rolls  the  dream} 


li.igle    I'oint,    near    Dubi'ciue. 


prairie,  melting  in  the  distance  into  the  skv,  which,  blue  above,  becomes  paler  and  paler 
as  it  nears  the  horizon,  until  it  is  an  absolute  gray.  This  is  tiie  outward  look.  The 
inward  has  plenty  of  ([uaint  effects.  There  is  an  absolute  confusion  of  lines.  Here  is  a 
wall,  there  a  stairway.  Above  that  wall  is  a  house,  with  more  stairways.  Then  comes 
another  wall,  and  perhaps  another  house,  or  a  castellated  mass  of  limestone,  overlooking 
the  architectural  muddle.  It  is  as  quaint  as  any  of  the  scenes  in  the  old  cities  of  Lom- 
li.irdy  upon  the  slopes  of  the  mountains,  among  the  terraces  cultivated  with  the  grape, 
the  olive,  and  the  fig. 

Just   beyond    Dubuque  we  com.,  upon  one   of  the    landmarks   of  the    pilots    of   the 


♦ij 


I 


334 


^msm' 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


^KW^^fvmm^^^fm?' 


upper  river — Eagle  Point,  a  splencli'  bkiii",  some  five  hundred  feet  Iiigli.  The  railroad 
from  Dubuque  to  St.  Paul  runs  upon  tiie  western  side  iiere,  and  continues  to  do  so  until 
it  crosses  at  Hastings,  a  long  way  nortl  It  runs  ;:t  the  base  of  the  bluffs,  and  com. 
mands  the  picturesque  ]ioints  atiiH/St  as  well  as  the  steaner.  At  this  ]ioint  the  bluffs  arc 
unusually  high  and  massive,  presenting  often  another  variety  of  mountain-form,  in  which 
the  summit  rolls  down,  as  it  were,  and  the  perpendicular  walls  beneath  seem  like  a  sliort 
column  supporting  a  monstrous  dome.  Eagle  Point  is  not  of  this  kind,  however ;  Imt 
the  sloping  portion  blends  so  gradually  with  the  perpendicular  that,  to  the  e\e,  it 
seems   one    enormous  wall,  descending  from  the  forest  above  to  the  water  beneath.     Tlic 


i*»^- 


Hui'iu    Vjsla. 


trees  here  attain  a  large  si/e  and  dot  the  champaign  country  that  stretches  la>  awav  on 
cver\'  side.  .Sometimes  the  cliffs  have  been  so  changcil  by  the  action  of  water  as  to  pro- 
duce those  colossal  slo|iing  banks  which  are  called  "downs"  in  England,  where  not  a 
particle  of  the  limestone  is  visible,  the  whole  being  covered  with  a  rich  mantle  of  grcm. 
The  'ffcct  of  these  downs  is  peculiarly  pleasing  in  sudden  turns  of  the  river,  when  in  ilic 
distance  a  portion  of  the  Mississij)]);  seems  to  be  isolated,  and  fancy  cheats  us  with  iln 
belief  that  the  bmnd,  gleaming  sheet  is  the  commencement  of  a  rtunantic  lake  annMig 
the  hills.  'Ihen  these  great  roofs  of  green  become  a  most  cxtpiisite  background,  ni"iv' 
especially  when    the    landscape    is   tameil    down   by  a  thin,  silvery  mist.      I'erhaps  one  of 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI. 


335 


gh.  The  railroad 
ues  to  do  so  until 
c  bluffs,  and  coni- 
oint  the  bluffs  arc 
sin-form,  in  which 
seem  like  a  short 
nd,  however ;  hut 
t,  to  the  eye,  it 
ter  beneath.     The 


ics  lar  a\va\  on 
A.iter  as  to  |imi- 
id,  wheie  nni  ,i 
nantic  of  fireiii. 
cr,  when  in  ilif 
ats  us  with  the 
ie  lake  anmiip 
rk^^rmind,  ninu' 
'erhaps  one  uf 


ilin  causes  of  this  lake-like 
appearance  is  the  compara- 
tive freeilom  of  this  part  of 
the  Mississippi  from  islands. 
There  are  small  dots  of 
jjrcen,  willowy  land  here 
and  tiiere,  but  not  in  such 
numbers  or  proportions  as 
to  contract  the  view  of 
hirjje  expanses  of  water. 
Riirht  in  the  centre  of  this 
beaitilul  rejjion  is  the  lit- 
tle villajie  of  Bucna  Vista, 
which  owes  its  name,  anil 
indeed  its  existence,  to  the 
appreciative  taste  of  a  West- 
rrner  who  fixed  his  house- 
liohi-uxxis  here  in  the  centre 
of  all  that  was  lovely  in 
Nat>ire.  The  place  is  well 
known  to  |>il()ts,  because  in 
ihi'  vicinity  there  is  an  out- 
croppinjf  of  lower  siliirian, 
uliicii  resembles  exactly  ru- 
in', of  some  jjigantic  struct- 
ure. It  is  not  |)reeisely  an 
uuiii;)p|iinji,  because  it  has 
hi'coiue  vis'ble  by  the  wash- 
inii  away  of  the  soil  that 
concealed  it.  There  is  at  its 
hasc  an  indescribable  mass 
of  Iraijments,  round  which 
rrir;)eis  and  wild-vines  have 
twined  themselves  in  |)ie(u- 
ii'-ijue  confusion,  and  on 
•aeh  side  of  it  the  forest - 
trees  jjrow  in  the  greatest 
hixuiianec.  The  ravines  on 
each     side     arc     broad     and 


■^mm,%'mf«i\iitmHi^Bi>f^^^4^!!m§ 


i\     .;: 


! 


I 


■ab 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI. 


337 


picturesque,  but  give  no  idea   or  sugtiestion    of   what   the    bluff  was   before    it    crumbled 
awav,  leaving,  as  it  were,  its  skeleton  visible 

The  mouth  of  the  Wisconsin  is  broad,  iiut  the  water  is  shallow,  and  the  channel  is 
obstructed  by  sand-bars,  covered  with  rank  vegetation.  The  bluffs  here,  on  the  opposite 
side,  are  covered  with  trees,  and,  both  in  their  contour  and  general  appearance,  remind 
one  very  much  of  the  hills  along  the  western  bianch  of  the  Susquehanna.  On  the  west- 
ern side  we  are  still  in  tiie   State   of   Iowa    but  the   eastern    shore  belongs  to  Wisconsin, 


Throe    Mik'»   alxivc    I. a   L'roiw. 


diu'  ol  the  great  wheat-raising  regions.  All  along  ihc  line  of  i!u'  river  htic.  the  towns 
li;iv(  siimetliing  to  do  with  the  trallic  in  cereals,  but  nlu^l  of  it  is  becoming  concentrated 
111  l)ulini|iic.  Somehow,  whether  it  is  imagination  or  not  can  scarcelv  lu'  analyzed,  but 
the  air  here  seems  purer  and  more  biacing  than  it  did  ImIow,  yi  t  the  sun's  ravs  are  im- 
nunscly  powerful.  The  bluffs,  that  are  directly  exposed  to  the  full  foice  of  the  summer 
sun,  are  bare  of  vegetation  as  the  palm  of  one's  hand  masses  of  white  rock.  IJut, 
wherever  a  curve  gives  li  shelter  to  vi-gclalion,  the  trees  spring    up  joyously  t(»  the    blue 

114 


338 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


i  :':i: 


.1  p' 
'I .  I } 


air,  and  the  wild-vines  iiang^  their  festoons  around  the  fantastie  spires  and  jutting  cornices 
of  the  limestone.  This  is,  in  sober  truth,  an  exquisite  part  of  the  river,  from  the  p;roatcr 
variety  of  the  scenery,  the  wooded  hills,  and  the  ex(iuisitely  pure  character  of  the  water, 
which  is  clear  and  limpid  as  that  of  Lake  Leinan.  The  bluffs  alternate  from  massive, 
deeply-wooded  hills  to  long  walls  of  limestone,  with  bases  and  huge  cornices  and  bartizan 
towers,  deep  cry;)ts,  and  isolated  chimneys.  Often,  from  the  deep  heart  of  the  oaks  and 
maples  crowning  a  majestic  bluff,  starts  up  a  skeleton  splinter  of  bare  lime,  white  as  ala- 
baster, in  the  pure  air,  a  little  remiiidcr  that  the  hill  had  been  much  higher.  Sometimes 
it  will  not  be  a  pinnacle,  but  a   regular  series  of  towers  or  donjon-keeps,  with  wild-vine 


t^)u<:i;ir>    lUufl,    bcliiw    'l'iiiii|K;<lcau. 

banners  waving  from  the  outer  ramparts.  In  ')ther  places,  the  summits  will  be  entinh 
denuded  of  timber,  but  will  be  covered  with  a  lirighl  mantle  of  einerald  turf  In  tin 
ravines  between,  the  trees  are  low,  thick,  and  biishv,  the  verv  place  for  the  covnt 
of  a  deer,  and  one  watches  instinctively  to  see  some  motion  in  the  leafy  shade,  and  to 
detect  the  brown  antlers  of  some  leader  of  the  held,  in  the  midst  of  tiiese  wonilcrs 
there  comes  a  bieak.  where  a  little  river  p<'iiis  its  waters  into  the  I'ather  of  Streams. 
A  smiling  prairie,  level  as  a  billiani-lable,  is  spread  on  each  side  of  the  moiilii  for  m  v- 
cial  miles.  Mere  is  ihc  town  of  l,.\  Crosse,  built  upon  the  prairie  when-  all  the  Indian 
tribes,  for    hundreds'  of   miles   around,  used    to    have   their   great    ball-playing,  liiat    giinc 


■•*«':'-•.•»* 


id  jutting  cornices 
,  from  the  greater 
;tcr  of  the  water, 
itc  from  massive, 
niccs  and  bartizan 
of  the  oai<s  and 
ime,  white  as  ala- 
igher.  Somciinics 
ps,  with  wild-vine 


H' 


k  I  J. 


will  he  ciuiiiK 
(1    liirf      In  I  Ik 

for  the  covert 
V  shade,  and   lo 

these  womici^ 
ler  of  Streams, 
month   for   ^i  \ 

all  the  IndKiM 
finir,  that    game 


whicii  the  French  travellers 
called  "  la  crosse,"  and  which 
has  given  its  name  to  this 
stirring  city,  bustling  with 
manufactures,  and  noisy  with 
the  screams  of  locomotives. 
And  still  we  are  on  the 
right  hank  of  the  river,  and 
still  in  the  State  of  Wis- 
consin ;  the  opposite  shore 
is  in  Minnesota,  also  a  great 
grain  and  lumber  mart. 
Here  we  begin  to  see  big 
rafts  coming  down  the 
stream,  with  often  twelve 
men  tugging  away  at  the 
clumsv,  huge  oars,  battling 
against  the  swift  current. 
Above  La  Crosse,  the  val- 
ley of  the  Mississippi  widens 
considerablv,  and  the  hills 
recede,  leaving  long  sloj^es 
of  upland,  covered  with  no- 
Me  trees.  The  river  is  per- 
fecllv  studded  with  islands; 
in  fact,  one  is  never  out  of 
sight  of  them.  'I'hey  are  all 
l(i\v,  composed  of  alluvial 
Miil,  washings  from  the 
li.uiks,  and  are  covered  with 
a  dense  growth  of  shrub- 
oak,  from  whicii  occasional 
cotton  -  woods  soar  up  to 
considerable  height.  Sonie- 
lii'iis  they  are  in  the  een- 
lir,  sometimes  they  fringe 
I  lie  banks;  but,  in  every 
piisjtion,  they  add  greatly 
I"  the   beauty  of  the  scene. 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI. 


339 


5',^5?*^'" 


$ .  j 

. 

H| 

1 

^40 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


\m 


mi% 


M       '■ 


The  bluffs  here  are,  in  many 
cases,  over  six  hundred  feet 
high,  and  of  varied  sh;i]ics, 
the  pyramidal  heginninir  to 
appear  with  persistent  recur- 
rence. 

Queen's  Bluff,  a  frajrmcn- 
tary  pyramidal  bluff,  is  one 
of  the  landmarks  by  which 
I  lie  pilots  know  that  they  are 
ap|)roaching  the  liury  riojon 
of  Trempealeau.  Queen's 
Bluff  has  not  only  been  cleft 
in  twain  by  the  greater  Mis- 
sissippi of  the  past,  but  its 
face  lias  been  scooped  out  hv 
the  winds,  and  Natun'  has 
kindly  filled  up  the  gUn  my 
\oi(.l  with  fine  trees.  Its 
southern  side  is  exposed  di- 
rectly to  the  noonday  sun, 
and  is  a  bare,  |>reeipitous 
mass  of  glaring  white,  with- 
out so  much  as  a  blade  of 
grass  to  shade  it  from  the  sun's 
tierce  kisses.  There  are  gieat 
cracks  in  it,  which  are  posi- 
livch'  blue  in  shadow,  fiom 
the  intensity  of  the  glare. 

The  steamboat  glides  on- 
ward'over  the  glassy  tide,  and 
nears  rapidly  one  of  the  three 
rockv  islands  of  tiie  Mi'^sis- 
sippi.  The  first  was  at  l\llci^ 
Island,  the  second  is  hen  ai 
Trempealeau,  about  eigliinn 
miles  above  La  Crosse.  It 
is  sometimes  called  Miun- 
tain      Island,     for     its     rocky 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI. 


341 


heiglit  attains  in  one  ]iart  an  altitude  of  five  hundred  and  rixty  feet.  But  tiie 
nanu'  whicii  tiie  Freneii  voya_s[cHrs  p;ave  it  is  so  poetical  that  it  would  be  a  sin 
to  ciuuiffe  it.  It  rises  sheer  out  of  the  water  in  the  centre  of  the  channel,  and  the 
French  called  it  "Mont  qui  trempe  a  I'eau  "  (Mountain  which  dips  in  the  Water). 
Xothinj;  can  be  conceived  more  beautiful  than  the  approach  to  this  most  romantic  and 
picturesque  spot,  which,  in  the  writer's  opinion,  exceeds  in  positive  beauty  the  far-famed 
sceniiy  of  Lake  Pepin,  twenty-five  miles  up  the  river.     The   river  lies  like  a  lake  in  the 


liiMiipcali'.ui    Isl.nnl. 


hosoni  of  the  hills,  which  are  so  varied  in  beauty  that  they  defy  description.  They  do  not 
present  an  amjjhitheatre  of  peaks,  but  are  rather  like  an  edirinjf  or  the  seltin<r  of  envr- 
alds  around  a  diamontl.  Their  forms  offer  everv  possible  combination  of  picturcMjue 
lines,  every  known  conformation  of  limestone-rocks,  blended  with  ever-changinjr  hues  of 
jjrecn,  from  the  deej)  tints  of  everj^reens  to  the  bright  emeralil  of  grassy  jjlains.  The 
river  seems  to  sleep  below,  its  placid  siuface  giving  back  all  the  glorious  beauty  of  its 
environing.     The   locomotive   creeps   at   the   base   of  the   great  bluffs,  as   if  conscious   of 


m 


-A  m 


ri;f" 


,m^ 


342 


PICTURHSOUE    AMERICA. 


"""^m^^^:- 


Chimney    Uock,   near    I'ountnin   City. 


I     i4 


:  -t;' 


intrusion,  and  emits  its  whistle  in  a  ])laintive,  deprecatory  manner,  that  the  hills  echo 
and  reecho  with  increasing  pathos.  'Ihe  islets  that  nestle  around  the  Inijje  form  of  Trem- 
pealeau are  mostly  covered  with  sedsje-crashes,  waving  with  the  slightest  puff  of  air.  ihe 
mountain  is  by  no  means  bare.  There  arc  parts  which  are  covered  l)y  thick  forests, 
growing  with  the  greatest  luxuriance  on  the  steep  ascent  ;  and  there  are  spaces  where 
nothing  hut  the  barren  rock  is  seen,  with  all  its  huge  stratification  exposed  to  view. 
Spots  of  the  barren  rock  are  covered  with  a  minute  lichen,  which  gives  to  the  limeslimc 
a  warm,  rich  effect,  like  red  sandstone  ;  in  other  spots  it  is  dazzling  white,  like  marMc. 
There  is  a  winding  path  up  Trempealeau   for   those    who   care    to    make  the  ascent,  and, 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI. 


343 


^e.- 


tlio  liills  echo 
L'  form  of  Trim- 
iiff  of  air.  The 
y  thick  fonsts. 
e  spaces  where 
|H)S0{1  to  view. 
()  till'  limestdiic 
ilc,  lilvc  mat  Ilk'. 
the  ascent,  and, 


in  autumn,  the  sides  of  this  road  arc  lined  with  berry-bushes.  Nothing  is  more  sugges- 
tive in  the  distance  than  this  same  winding  foot-way,  especially  when  behind  it  a  golden- 
edged  cloud  of  cumulus  formation  is  slowly  sailing  by ;  tlien  it  seems  a  path  to  El 
Dorado,  to  the  cities  of  elf-land,  where,  in  silence,  await  the  bold  adventurer,  beauteous 
maidens,  in  fountained  courts,  rich  with  the  perfume  of  celestial  flowers,  and  where  birds 
sin<T  strains  of  a  sweetness  never  heard  from  mortal  instrument,  but  akin  to  those  divine 
airs  that  flit  through  the  brain,  as  pitilessly  beyond  the  grasp  as  the  golden-cornered 
cloud  itself.  Trempealeau  is  a  study  for  the  jiainter,  a  theme  for  the  poet,  a  problem 
for  the  geologist,  a  clew  for  the  historian.  Whosoever  will  study  it  with  his  soul  rather 
than  his  wit  shall  not  fail  of  exceeding  great  reward. 

It  is  hard  to  say  under  what  aspect  Trempealeau  looks  the  best — whether  from  the 
distance  below,  or  from  a  nestling-place  in  the  islets  at  its  feet,  or  from  the  village  of 
Tremiiealeau,  five  miles  above.  This  little  place  ought  to  be  visited  by  every  painter 
and  ])oct  in  America,  and  should  become  the  headquarters  of  every  one  who  loves  the 
scenery  of  his  country,  during  the  summer  months.  It  is  a  grief  that  Americans  should 
wander  off  to  the  Rhine  and  the  Danube  when,  in  the  Mississippi,  they  have  countless 
Rhines  and  many  Danubes.  VViiat  does  it  matter  if  every  peak  along  the  former  has 
tlie  dismantled  walls  i  '  some  robber-baron's  den  }  Is  Drachenfels  one  whit  more  castel- 
lated than  any  of  the  nameless  bluffs  about  and  around  Trempealeau  ?  y\ll  that  is  beau- 
tiful in   lake-scenery,  in    lower    mountain-scenery,  in    river-scenery,  is  garnered  here.     The 


11' til 

ill' 


TIN'.     rPPER    MlSSlSSIPPf. 


345 


great  trees  that  line  the  bases  of  Trempealeau  arc  worthy  of  the  Titan  that  has  nour- 
ished them,  and  develop  such  trunks,  such  l)ranches,  as  do  the  eyes  good  to  see.  The 
little  isles  crouch  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain-island  as  if  seeking  protection  from  the 
rush  of  the  spring  waters  oi  the  live  bolt  of  the  storm.  They  are  of  every  shajie,  and 
the  combinations  of  their  trees  and  their   sedgy  banks    offer    a    thousand  hints  of   beauty 


It    V:^^t-f: 


I  ■  I 


n  : 


I 


Limestone    Naiural    WaIN,    lit'lnw    St.    I'aul. 


and  suggestions  of  romance  to  the  intelligent  glance  tiiat  takes  them  in.  Sometimes  the 
eotton-trees  clump  them.-^.'lves  as  in  a  park  ;  anon,  by  a  few  strokes  of  the  oar,  and  in 
a  trice,  one  gazes  at  a  vista  of  branches  through  which,  obscurely  in  the  distance,  one 
sees  through  the  tremulous  summer  a  great  broad  Hank  of  darkened  limestone.  .And  the 
ckar,  limpid  water  that  glides  around  tiiem,  and  that   laves    the  rocky  sides  of  the  grand 


^ 


346 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Trempealeau,  gleams  with  such  brightness,  and  glows  so  under  the  sunlight,  and  sleeps  in 
silvery  lengths  under  the  moonlight,  that  one  cannot  but  love  it.  In  the  distance,  look- 
ing back  regretfully  from  the  village  of  Trempealeau,  every  cape  and  headland  is  softened, 
a.id  the  green  hues  of  the  forest-clad  sides  become  a  warmish  gray,  verging  in  blue.  Tlu 
little  isles  appear  like  dots  of  .trees,  springing  up  out  of  the  silvery  wave  that  spreads  itself 
out  in  a  dazzling  sheet  of  reflected  sunshine.  And,  if  any  one,  after  seeing  these  thinijs, 
shall  pine  for  the  castled  crags  of  the  Rhine,  let  him  come  and  survey  Chimney  Rock, 
near  Fountain  City,  some  twenty-five  miles  higher  up.  It  is  true  that  the  hand  of  man 
never   wrought    at    these    things,  but,  for  all   that,  it    is   the    precise    image   of   Chepstcw 


Nenr    Si.    I'.aul. 


Keep,  in  "  mei  Ak  lingland,"  and  is,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  as  much  a  castle  as  any 
ruin  of  the  German  river.  The  spectator  who  views  this  peculiar  mass  of  limestone 
from  above  the  river  will  fail  to  see  why  it  received  its  name.  But,  from  below, 
and  passing  abreast,  one  obser\'es  that  the  extreme  mass  on  the  right  hand  is  altogether 
detached,  and  presents  a  very  striking  resemblance  to  the  enormous  stone  chimneys 
which  arc  built  up  outside  the  houses  in  Virginia.  The  castle  rises  from  a  dense  growth 
of  trees,  mostly  of  maples,  and  at  the  base  of  the  bluff  there  is  a  sort  of  natural  terrace 
very  broad  and  even,  which  is  free  from  vegetation  of  any  kind,  and  looks  not  unlike 
the  terrace  of  a  proud    palatine  home.      Below   this   is   an   accumulation    of  soil,   washed 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI 


347 


It,  and  sleeps  in 
E  distance,  iDok- 
land  is  softened, 
ig  in  blue.  The 
at  spreads  itself 
ng  these  things, 
Chimney  Rock, 
e  hand  of  man 
e   of   Chepstcw 


castle  as   any 

of  limestone 

from    below, 

is  altogetlier 

)ne   chimneys 

(iinse  growth 

atural  terrace 

s  not  unlike 

soil,   washed 


down  by  the  river  in  spring  tides,  which  has  offered  a  resting-place  to  wandering  seeds. 
These  have  grown  into  a  belt  of  scrub-oak,  very  low  and  very  compact,  forming  a  pleas- 
ant foreground  to  the  scene  above. 

We  now  approach  Lake  Pepin,  the  first  glimpses  of  which  are  truly  charming. 
Th-:  Mississippi  here  swells  into  a  large  expanse  of  vvater,  in  some  parts  five  miles 
across,  and  this  widening  extends  for  twenty-live  miles.  By  many  this  region  's  consid- 
ered the  finest  that  the  river  affords,  but  most  artists  will  decide  for  the  vicinity  of 
Trempealeau.  The  water  here  is  very  deep,  and,  in  the  summer-time,  is  so  calm,  so 
unruffled,  so  still,  that  one  cannot  discern  with  the  eye  any  a|)pearance  of  a  current.  So 
easily  do  the  side-wheel  steamboats  pass  through  the  water  that  they  seem  to  be  moving 
through  air,  so  gentle  and  equable  are  the  pulsations.  And  it  is  really  an  ann  ah^-'  to 
be  passed  by  a  stern  -  wheeler;  the  great  machine  in  the  rear  tosses  the  water  abo.'.  and 
churns  it  into  foam,  destroying  the  serene  impressions  that  had  been  left  upon  the 
mind.  Looking  northward,  on  entering  the  lake,  one  observes  a  high  rocky  point  on 
the  left  shore,  elevating  itself  like  a  sentinel  of  a  fairy  host  guarding  the  entrance  to 
the  enchanted  land.  In  the  mid -distance  another  promontory  of  high  and  menacing 
aspect  juts  out  into  the  lake,  concealing  from  view  the  sweep  of  the  upjjcr  end  of  the 
lake,  which  here  makes  a  bold  curve  to  the  eastward.  A  superb  amphitheatre  of  bluffs 
encloses  the  lake,  p'-anv  of  which  have  an  elevation  of  live  hundred  feet.  These  present 
every  variety  of  form,  some  of  them  being  square  masses,  like  the  keep  of  ui  old  castle ; 
others  flow  out  in  a  series  of  bosses;  others  are  angular,  others  conical.  Here,  in  one 
direction,  is  a  pyramid,  with  numerous  depressions  and  ravines  mottling  the  white  mass 
with  veins  of  siiadow  ;  and  here,  in  another,  is  a  vertical  wall,  with  perfect  mouldings 
of  comiccs  and  plinths.  Anon,  steals  into  the  view  a  gently-sloping  mound,  covered 
with  herbage  and  trees.  All  of  these  does  the  delicate-hueU  surface  of  the  lake  rellect 
with  perfect  fidelity,  excepting  that  the  light  objects  are  elongated,  and  their  outlines  are 
lost ;  but  the  dark,  stern  capes  are  given  back  with  scrupulous  exactitude,  line  for  line, 
bush  for  bush,  mass  for  mass. 

This  is  Lake  Pepin  in  a  calm.  But  this  daughter  of  the  hills  is  not  always  in  a 
good-humor,  and,  when  her  waves  are  ruffled  by  the  angry  winds,  '^he  rages  with  a  fury 
tiiat  is  by  no  means  innocent.  Its  vicinity  to  St.  Paul  makes  it  a  favorite  resort  for 
those  wiio  are  fond  of  boating,  and  the  surface  in  the  summer  is  often  dotted  with  the 
white  sails  of  miniature  yachts.  These  have  a  hard  time  in  stormy  weather,  for  (he 
waves  are  very  high  and  very  short,  and  succeed  each  other  with  a  rrpidity  which  makes 
steering  almost  impossible.  Many  a  sailing-boat  has  been  dashed  by  the  mad  waters  right 
into  the  forests  that  here,  in  every  direction,  come  sloping  down  to  the  water's  edge. 
In  all  the  little  villages  nestling  in  the  amphitheatres  of  the  lake,  there  are  stories  of 
such  disasters,  though  they  never  yet  taught  prudence  to  any  one.  The  great  tradition 
of  death  and  sorrow  belongs   to    Maiden's   Rock.     The   tale   of  Winona's  tragical  suicide 


I>!i*P^«ft»il!»l\«4!H!,_";iJ!^J^V 


IHi 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI. 


349 


has  been  widely  circulated,  but  it  is  so  much  a  part  of  Lake  Pepin's  attraction  tliat  it 
cannot  be  passed  over  in  silence.  Winona  was  a  young  girl  of  that  confederacy,  named 
liy  itself  Dah-co-tah,  which  the  French  called  Sioux,  but  whose  real  name  is  Tetone. 
She  loicd  a  hunter  of  the  same  division  of  the  confederacy,  but  her  parents  wished  her 
to  p'.arry  a  warrior  of  the  Wa])csha  division,  and,  by  threats  and  actual  blows,  extorted 
from  her  a  promise  of  com])liance.  The  day  before  the  union  she  ascended  a  bluff  of 
i-reiU  height,  whose  upper  part  is  a  sheer  precipice,  and  began  chanting  her  death- 
song.  Soon  the  base  was  surrounded  by  the  tribe,  and  all  those  who  possessed  any 
inllucnce  over  the  girl  shouted  to  her  to  descend,  and  that  all  should  be  well.  She 
sh(K)k  her  head  in  disbelief,  and,  breaking  off  her  song,  u|)braide(i  them  bitterly,  not  t)nly 
for  wishing  to  marry  her  against  her  will,  but  for  their  folly  in  preferring  the  claims  of 
a  warrior,  who  did  nothing  but  light,  to  those  of  a  hunter,  who  fed  the  tribe.  Tlien  she 
continued  her  inteirujited  chant,  and  threw  herself,  at  its  conclusion,  from  the  lieigiit, 
being  dashed  to  pieces  in  the  great   buttress  of  ixjcky  di'hris  below. 

I'lontenac  is  in  the  centre  of  the  lake-region,  and  is  left  behind  with  veritable 
rcijret.  When  we  get  once  moie  into  the  river  it  seems  ([uite  narrow,  though  this 
i>^  the  effect  of  contrast.  At  Hastings,  the  railroad  which  has  hitherto  faithfullv  accom- 
panied us  on  the  left  side  makes  a  change  to  the  other  shore,  just  in  the  region  of  the 
liinesloiie  walls.  These  are  not  very  high,  but  they  i)rodace  a  forcible  impression  by 
thiir  length  and  regularity.  The  bluffs  rise  over  them  in  great  green  domes,  and  often 
lartre  trees  crown  their  ledges;  but  there  are  s|)Ots  where,  for  miles  upon  miles,  these 
walls  stand  alone,  unadorned  by  vegetation —white,  glaring,  and  monotonous.  Still,  there 
is  a  ijuiet  strength  and  sternness  about  this  formation,  which  impress  some  organizations 
more  forcibly  than  actual  beauty,  and  the  spots  where  these  ramparts  are  partially  cov- 
enii  with  great  trailing  wild -vines  are  indeed  highly  pictures(]ue.  The  river-scenery  at 
this  |H)int  is  essentially  lovely.  There  is  a  multiplicity  of  islands,  showing  every  possible 
massing  of  vegetation,  and,  in  manv  cases,  the  bluffs  are  (piite  low,  and  admit  a  broad 
view  of  woodland  and  prairie.  The  effect  is  park-'ike,  and,  when  a  powerful  sun  pours 
u|inii  the  scene  a  Hood  of  light,  nothing  more  softly  beautiful  can  be  imagined.  I.ook- 
iiii;  northward  in  the  distance,  we  obtain  faint  glimpses  of  St.  Paul  ;  but  it  is  im|)os- 
siliif  to  get  a  good  view  of  this  picturesque  city  from  the  river.  This  is  the  gettinjj- 
otf  |)lace,  the  end  of  navigation  on  the  Mississippi,  and  therefore  every  one  is  sure  of 
lieing  able  to  go  to  Hall's  Bluff,  or,  better  still,  l<i  Dayton's  lihiff,  on  the  east  side  of 
St.  Paul,  where,  with  <<ne  swee|)ing  glance,  the  eye  takes  in  the  citv,  its  towers,  and  its 
elevators,  »he  railroad-bridges,  the  opposing  rocky  shores,  ami  the  graceful  curve  of  the 
river. 

The  chief  attraction,  of  a  pictures(|ue  nature,  in  this  vicinity,  however.  Is  not  u|)on 
tiie  Mississi|)pi,  hut  on  the  little  Minnehaha  Ui"er,  an  (»ullel  of  Lake  Minnetonka, 
whose  waters   arc   poured    into   the    Minnesota   not    far   from    ttu-   junction   of  that    river 


.■iT--"7:'~,7V>^  ,;'!?w-T^,-.    ■  .;viT^iTr/--?;,s;'f:--i';iT^i,.  pi        -'^^ 


m 


THE    UPPER    MISSISSIPPI. 


35' 


Wt 


m 


\^i\> 


..itfi 


^ 


?f 


m, 


?r, 


with  the  Mississippi.  The 
famous  falls  here  are  by 
no  means  what  one  would 
imafjine  from  the  poem 
oi'  Lonpjfellow.  There  is 
but  little  water,  yet  what 
there  is  is  more  admirable 
at  its  lowest  than  at  its 
highest  volume  For  the 
chief  beauty  of  the  f;ill  is 
in  I  lie  crossing  of  the  deli- 
cate spiral  threads  of  water, 
producing  an  effect  which 
reminds  one  of  fine  lace. 
About  two  hundred  feet  be- 
low there  is  a  bridge,  and, 
as  this  is  only  thirty  feet 
long,  it  will  assist  the  read- 
er in  ioiining  a  correct  idea 
of  the  proportions  of  this 
somewhat  too  famous  cata- 
ract. The  gorge  is  elliptic 
in  lorm  from  the  centre  of 
the  falls  to  the  bridge,  and 
i|uite  narrow  everywhere. 
The  depth  is  about  si.xty 
feel.  Oil  each  side  of  the 
top  of  tlic  falls  are  numer- 
ous iiiich-trecs,  and  the  sum- 
mits of  the  gorge  crowned 
'.vith  various  forest-trees.  He- 
low  tlu'  bridge,  the  blctTs  or 
banks  on  eoch  side  cease 
to  lie  precipitous,  and  come 
sloping  down  to  tin  wa- 
in's edge,  with  all  their 
trees,  the  hmnchcs  of  many 
actually  dipping  into  the 
l-rink.     The  veil  of   the   fall- 


■l  ft 


352 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


) 


ing  water  is  so  thin  that  one  can  sec  the  rock  behind  it.  There  is  a  good  path  bcliind, 
which  even  ladies  can  follow,  except  when  the  wind  blows  directly  opposite,  when  the 
adventurous  traveller  would  get  well  drenched. 

By  rail  from  St.  Paul  to  St.  Anthony,  on  the  Mississippi  River,  the  distance  is  about 
ten  miles,  and  every  pilgrim  in  search  of  the  picturesque  ends  his  journey  here.  Minne- 
apolis is  on  one  side  of  the  river,  and  the  city  of  St.  Anthony  on  the  other.  The  liills 
can  be  seen  with  equal  advantage  from  eithei  side,  though,  if  one  wants  to  try  both  views, 
the  suspension-biidge  enables  one  to  do  so  with  jierfect  ease.  The  rapids  above  the  cata- 
ract are  very  fine,  in  fact  much  finer  than  the  fall  itself,  for  the  river  is  broad  above,  nearly 
seven  hundred  feet  wide,  and,  within  the  last  mile,  makes  a  descent  of  fifty  feet.  As  the 
falls  are  only  eighteen  feet,  they  often  disa])point  the  spectator,  more  especially  as  com- 
merce has  interfered  with  them,  and  converted  them  into  water-power,  second  only  to 
that  of  Rocky  Island  at  Moline.  The  rapids  are  in  reality  splendid,  even  in  the  sum- 
mer-time. The  jostling  waters  heave  up  great  surges  several  feet  high,  from  wiiicli  the 
wintl  strikes  sheets  of  spray.  In  the  centre  there  is  a  broad,  well-defined  mass  of  water, 
like  a  ridge,  elevated  over  the  stream  on  each  side.  Furious  eddies  boil  and  circle  in 
this  with  a  deep,  gurgling  sound,  and,  when  a  |)ine-tree  comes  down,  it  goes  under,  and 
come«'  shooting  up  into  the  air  hundreds  of  feet  below,  but  with  every  particle  of  b.rk 
stripjied  off,  and  great  splinters  wrenched  from  the  hard  wood  bv  tiie  battling  currents 
underneath.  Just  above  the  fall,  on  the  very  verge,  the  waters  steadv  themselves  for  the 
leap,  but,  before  that,  the  waves  cross  and  rccross,  and  stagger  with  blind,  furious  haste 
The  best  view  seems  to  be  from  the  centre  of  the  suspension-bridge,  for  there  you  can 
see  the  grand  ra|)ids,  and  do  not  see  the  dams  and  factories  01.  either  side.  Looking  up 
the  falls,  however,  you  do  gain  something,  for  you  have  a  full  view  of  the  e.xtraordinarv 
piles  of  limestone-slabs  forced  otT  by  the  united  action  of  tiie  currents  and  the  ice.  These 
are  hea|)ed  in  ni my  places  along  the  shore  witii  the  greatest  regularity.  The  slabs  are 
like  the  toj)^  01"  tables,  many  of  them  as  smooth  as  possible,  this  being  the  distinguishing; 
characteristic  of  limestone-cleavage.  And,  the  force  of  the  water  being  in  one  direction 
belovv  the  falls,  the  slabs  are  not  broken  in  the  descent,  but  are  gently  left  by  the  reeeii- 
ing  waves  along  the  shore  in  regular  rotation.  Still,  from  this  point  of  view,  the  dams 
and  other  obstructions  are  too  plainly  in  sight,  and,  though  they  cannot  make  one  lhri;et 
the  immense  volume  of  the  river  that  comes  lea|)ing  onward,  yet  they  do  destroy  all  the 
romance  and  much  of  the  beauty  of  the  water-fall. 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    GENESEE. 


■■ 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY   J.    DOUGLAS    WOODWARD. 

THERE  is  said  to  be 
a   mountain-peak   in 
Potter  County,  Pennsylva- 
nia, standing   upon   which 
the    observer    may    mark 
the   fountain-head   of   two 
rivers.       Though     flowing 
through    adjacent     gorges, 
dieir  courses   are  soon   di- 
vided,    tho     one     tending 
southward,  while    the   oth- 
er marks    out    a    winding 
wav    to     tile     harbor     at 
Chadotte,  there    losing    it- 
self in    the    waters    of    Lake    Ontario. 
To  follow   down    the    i)athway  of  the 
southward-Howing    stream    would    lead 
the   traveller    through    every    variation 
i,f  climate  and  verdure   that   our   land 
affords — now  shadowed   by  the   rugged 
jieaks   of   the    Alleghanies,   then    over 
roiisrh    rapids    and    dangerous    shallows,    till    the 
sniokv  precincts   of   Pittsburg   are    reached,  with 
the  l)lending  waters  of  the   Monengaiiela.      Still 
farther,   and    bearing   west    by    south,    its   course 
leads    through    fruitful    valleys,    and    along    the 
luisv  wharves  of  Cincinnati,  Louisville,  and  Cni- 
ni.     ilcrc  the  cle.ir,  fresh  waters  of  the    moun- 
tain-rivulet  are    tinally  merged   and    lost   in   the 
expanse  of  the    Mississippi  ;   and,  afloat    on    the 
liiKoin  of  the    I'ather    of    Rivers,  we   are   borne 
nil    its    sluggish    current    to    the    dclla,   and    (he 
holders  of  the   Southern  gull. 

This  tour  of  fancy  ended,  the    river-vovager    retraces    his    path    till    he    stands   again 
upon    the   Northern    summit,  and   girds    himself   lor   the    second    and    northward  journey. 


Kallroiiil-llrlilKe.    roriagc. 


354 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


This,  though  short  as  compared  with  his  southward  course,  will  yet  prove  one  of  exceed- 
inj^  beauty,  and  rich  in  all  those  varied  phases  which  unite  to  form  what  we  call  the 
picturesque.  It  is  to  the  "beautiful  Genesee"  that  wc  now  turn;  and,  as  the  valley  that 
bears  its  name,  and  owes  its  richness  to  the  riv<  r's  turbulent  moods,  lies  fir  to  the  north- 
ward, in  the  limits  of  the  neighboring  Empire  State,  we  hasten  toward  it,  trusting  to  the 
paths  through  which  the  river  first  made  its  way. 

In  its  early  course,  the  Genesee  is  not  marked  by  any  exceptional  beautv  or 
peculiar  charm  of  surroundings.  Nor  is  it  till  the  fiiils  at  Portage  are  reached  that 
the  river  asserts  its  claim  to  recognition  as  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  picturesque 
of  all  our  Eastern  streams. 

The  summer  tourist,  if  he  leave  the  car  of  the  Erie  Railway  at  Portage  Village, 
will  be  first  attracted  by  what  is  the  least  picturesque  though  an  important  feature  in  the 
foreground  ;  and  that  is  the  great  bridge  which  spans  the  ravine  and  river  at  this  point— 
a  work  which  will  well  repay  a  careful  survey,  since  it  is  regarded  as  a  triumph  of  the 
bridge-builder's  skill.  This  bridge,  or,  more  pro])erly,  viaduct,  is  said  to  be  the  largest 
wooden  structure  of  its  kind  in  tiie  world.  It  crosses  the  river  at  a  point  hanilv  a 
stone's-throw  above  the  brink  of  the  First  or  Upper  I-'all ;  and  its  lightly-framed  i)iers, 
with  their  straight  lines  reaching  from  the  granite  base  to  the  road-way  above,  contrast 
strangely  with  the  wild  roughness  of  the  natural  chasm  it  spans. 

The  reason  given  by  the  artist  for  not  presenting  an  extended  and  architectiiraliv 
complete  view  of  this  great  work  is  not  without  force.  "  This  is  a  tour  in  search  of  thi 
picturesque,"  he  says;  "and  the  straight  lines,  sharp  angles,  and  cut-stone  buttresses  ol  a 
railway-bridge  do  not  belong  to  that  order  of  beauty."  Assenting  to  this  just  estimate 
of  the  artist's  mission,  we  turn  away  from  this  hasty  survey  of  the  bridge  to  the  con- 
templation of  the  lough-hewn,  rugged  walls  of  the  chasm  it  spans. 

Divided  for  an  instant  by  the  stone  buttresses  of  the  bridge,  the  waters  of  the  river 
unite  again,  just  in  time  to  present  a  bold  and  unbroken  front  upon  the  brink  of  tlu 
first  fall.  As  the  body  of  water  which  passes  over  these  falls  is  comi)aratively  small — e.x- 
cept  in  seasons  of  flood — and  as  the  first  precipice  is  but  sixty-eight  feet  in  heiuhi 
the  effect  would  be  of  little  moment,  were  it  not  for  the  striking  character  of  the  'Sur- 
roundings. 

Enteiing  the  gorge  a  short  distance  above  the  brink  of  this  Hpper  Fall,  the  river 
has  cut  for  itself  a  wild,  rugged  channel,  the  walls  of  which  rise  in  a  perpendieiilar 
height  of  from  two  to  si.x  hundred  feet,  each  successive  fall  resulting  in  a  deepening  of 
the  chasm,  and  a  eonse(|uent  increase  in  the  height  of  the  rocky  barriers. 

It  is  this  chasm  that  constitutes  the  distinctive  feature  in  the  upper  course  of  iht 
(ienesee.  Beginning  abruptly  at  a  point  not  far  above  the  Upper  Fall,  it  increast"- 
in  dei'th  and  wildness  until  the  village  of  Mount  Morris  is  reached,  at  which  point  the 
stream   makes  its  exit    from  the  rocky  confines  as  abruptly  as  it   entered    them,  and,  as 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    GENESEE. 


355 


and  architcctiirallv 
iir  in  search  fif  the 
jne  buttresses  of  a 

this  just  cstiinatt 
ridtif  to  thi-  urn- 
waters  of  the  river 

the  brink  of  tiic 
natively  small  -ox- 
ilil  feet  in  hciizhi 
aiacler  of   the    siir- 

per  h'all,  tiie  river 
in  a  |ierpcndicular 
in  a  deepening;  of 
ers. 

])per  course  of  the 
V;\\\,  it  increases 
It  which  point  the 
red    them,  and,  as 


Middle    I'iills,    Porliige. 

though  to  atone  for  the  wiid- 
ness  of  i^s  early  course,  set- 
tles at  once  into  a  <rentle 
and  life-giving  current,  j,didin<r  through 
rich  meadows  and  fertile  lowlands,  its 
way  marked  by  a  luxuriant  growth  of 
grass  and  woodland.  Hut  there  are  other 
features  in  the  region  of  Portage  which 
deserve  more  extended  notice,  and  to 
these  we  willingly  return. 
Having  recovered  from  t'^eir  firsi  bold  leap,  the  waters  unite  and  (low  onward  in 
ffentie  current,  with  an  occasional  ripple  (»r  miniature  rapid,  for  the  distance  of  half  a 
mile,  when  the  brink  of  the  second  and  highest  fall  is  reached.  Over  this  the  waters 
poui,  in  an  unbroken  sheet,  a  distance  of  one  hundred  and  ten  feet.  M  the  base  of 
this  full  t\w  waters  have  carved  out,  on  the  western  side,  a  dark  cave,  which  may  be 
approached  by  a  wooden  stairway,  standing  at  tin-  foot  of  which  we  see  the  sky  as  from 
the  depths  of  a  crater. 


I     'v 


.1';  ;'■ 


356 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Asccndiiiir  afjain  to  the-  plateau  tliat  reaches  out  on  a  line  with  the  brink  of  this 
fall,  we  come  in  sight  of  Glen  Iris,  a  rural  home,  the  fortunate  owner  of  which  is  evi- 
dently the  possessor  of  a  sympatliizin<i  and  ap|)rcciative  taste  for  the  beauties  with  which 
he  is  surrounded. 


Lower    Kails,    I'ortage. 


Upon  ihv  lawn  that  divides  Glen-Iris  Cottage  from  the  brink  of  the  precipice  stami'^ 
a  rude  log-cabin,  which  is  in  the  possession  of  a  history  so  closely  'inked  with  that  of  the 
first  iidiabitants  of  this  wild  region  that  it  becomes  at  once  a  monument  of  peculiar  inter- 
est. The  form  of  this  cabin  is  given  by  the  artist  with  so  careful  a  regard  for  truth  that  a 
description  is  not  needed.  We  have  called  it  merely  a  log-cabin;  and  yet  it  is,  in  Iriilh, 
an  ancient  Indian  council-house,  and  stands  alone,  the  only  ruin  of  what  was  once  a  vilhip' 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    GENESEE. 


35; 


the  brink  of  this 
"  of  which  is  cvi- 
sautics  with  which 


of  the  Iroquois.  This  ancient  council-house  of  Caneadea  stood  originally  upon  a  bluff 
of  land  overlooking  the  Genesee,  about  twenty-two  miles  above  its  present  site.  It  was 
the  last  relic  of  aboriginal  sovereignty  in  the  valley,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  it 
should  be  so  jealously  guarded  by  its  present  owner,  Mr.  Letchworth,  on  whose  lawn  it 
stands.  During  the  Indian  wars,  all  the  white  captives  brought  in  from  the  South  and 
East  were  here  received,  and  comj)elled  to  run  the  gantlet  before  this  council-house,  its 
doors  being  their  only  goal  of  safety.  Among  the  famous  captives  who  were  thus  put 
to  tiic  test  was  Major  Moses  van  Campen,  a  name  distinguished  in  the  annals  .jf  the 
wars  with  the   Iroquois.      This    building    sheltered    Mary  Jemison,  "the  white  woman   of 


V\ 


I 

i. 


>:■    (■-: 


Iiuiiaii    Cuuncil  Uuusc. 


he  precipice  st.iiul^ 
(1  with  that  of  tiic 
t  of  peculiar  inter- 
ml  for  truth  tlial  n 
yet  it  is,  in  truth, 
was  once  a  village 


the  Cienesee,"  after  her  long,  fearful  march  from  the  Ohio  to  her  home  and  final  resting- 
place  in  the  valley  beyond.  It  was  here  that  the  chiefs  of  the  Seven  Nations  were  wont 
to  hold  their  councils  of  war.  There  is  no  record  of  the  date  of  its  construction,  but 
u|K)ii  one  of  the  logs  is  the  sign  of  a  cross,  the  same  as  that  which  the  early  Jesuit 
fathers  were  known  to  have  adopted  as  the  symbol  of  their  faith.  Hesides  this  single 
evidence  of  the  presence  of  the  stranger,  the  old  council-house  bears  upon  its  rough  sides 
the  marks  and  signs  of  the  Indians  who  arc  now  >vithout  a  home  or  a  country,  and 
yi't  who  once  could  call  all  these  wild  fiasses,  roval  forests,  and  broad  acres  their  own, 
by  virtue  of  a  long  iidieritance.     When  the   Indians  took  their  departure  to  more  western 


\V 


358 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


llif^h    Hanks,    F'ortage. 


1    r, 


reservations,  the   old    council-house    came    into   the    possession   of   a    white    squatter,  who 
guarded   it  against  decay,  and   made  it   his  home   for  fifty  years. 

It  is  this  council-house  that  now  stands  on  the  lawn  at  Glen  Iris,  in  full  view  of 
the  distant  hluffs,  and  within  but  a  stone's-throw  of  the  Middle  Fall.  Prompted  by  his 
own  worthy  interest  in  this  last  relic  of  the  old  league,  Mr.  Letchworth  caused  tliu 
council-house  to  be  removed  from  its  original  site  at  Cancadea,  and  erected  where  it  now 
stands.  In  effecting  this  removal,  great  care  was  taken  to  place  the  building  precisely 
as  it  originally  stood,  each  stick  occu|ning  the  same  relative  position  to  the  othiis. 
At  the  rededicition  of  the   building,  in   the  autumn   of   1872,  there  Wv.re  jjresent  twenty- 


■pi 


THE    VALLEY    OF    TL/E    GENESEE. 


359 


e    squatter,  who 

in  full  view  of 
lompted  by  his 
rth  caused  tlic 
I  where  it  now 
ildinfr  precisely 
to  the  others, 
iii'sent  twentv- 


two  Indians.  Among  these  justly  -  distinguished  guests  were  the  grandsons  of  Mary 
Jeniison,  Cornplanter,  Red-Jacket,  Tall  Chief,  Captain  Brant,  Governor  Blacksnake,  and 
otlioi'  chiefs  whose  nai.ies  are  associated  with  the  early  history  of  this  region.  Many 
of  tliese  strange  guests  wore  the  costumes  of  their  tribes.  The  council-fire  was  again 
li^rhted  ;  the  pipe  of  peace — the  identical  one  presented  by  Washington  to  Red -Jacket — 
was  passed  again  around  the  circle  of  grave  and  dignified  chiefs,  many  of  whom  were 
natives  of  the  valley,  and  whose  ancestors  were  once  the  sole  possessors  of  all  this  land. 
These  men  were  said  to  be  fine  representatives  of  their  race ;  and  the  speeches  that 
followed  the  first  silent  ceremony  were  delivered  in  the  Seneca  tongue,  with  all  the  old 
eloquence  and  fire.  It  was  an  occasion  worthy  of  a  lasting  record,  as  this  was,  no  doubt, 
the  lii^t   Indian    council   that   will   ever   be    held   in    the   valley  of  the   Genesee. 

After  the   Revolutionary  War   the  league  of  the   Iroquois  was  l)rnken,  the  Mohawks, 


(,■■. 


l>  |.  '■■: 


lligli    Banks,    Mouni    Morris. 


A.  I. 


■w 


360 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


with  Brant  at  their  head,  entering  the  service  of  the  British,  while  the  Senccas  remained 
true  to  the  new  claimants  of  their  soil.  The  jafter,  Mohawk  and  Seneca  met  only  as 
enemies ;  nor  was  the  feud  healed  until  the  day  of  this  their  last  council,  when  the  f,n;iiid- 
sons  of  Brant  and  Cornplanter  shook  hands  across  the  council-fire,  and  there  smoked 
the  pipe  of  peace. 

The  lonely  council-house,  the  dying  embers,  and  the  dull  rustle  of  the  falling  autumn 
leaves — all  seemed  in  accord  with  this  the  last  scene  in  the  history  of  that  wild  laci 
whose  light  has  gone  out  with  the  rising  of  the  new  sun. 

Turning  again  to  the  river,  we  follow  down  a  wild  mountain-road  for  the  distance 
of  two  miles,  at  which  point  a  narrow,  winding  foot-path  leads  down  a  steep  and  rugged 
defile.  Descending  this,  and  guided  by  the  rush  of  waters  below,  we  suddenly  come  upon 
■the  Lower  Falls.  Here  the  waters  of  the  river  arc  gradually  led  into  narrower  channels, 
until  the  stream  becomes  a  deep-cut  canal,  which,  rushing  down  in  swift  current  between 
its  narrow  limits,  widens  out  just  upon  the  brink  of  the  fall,  that  more  nearly  resembles  a 
stoop  rapid  than  either  of  the  others.  Standing  u])on  one  of  the  projecting  rocks  which 
are  a  feature  of  this  fall,  we  can  only  catch  occasional  glimpses  of  the  cavern's  bed,  so 
dense  wA  obscuring  are  the  mist-clouds.  A  second  and  more  hazardous  pathway  leads 
from  these  rocky  observatories  to  the  base  of  this  the  last  of  the  Portage  falls ;  and  tlie 
course  of  the  river  now  lies  deep  down  in  its  rock-enclosed  limits,  until  the  broad  valiev 
is  reached. 

To  this  rocky  defile   the   general  name  of   Hi  nks  is  given — a   name    rendered 

more  definite  by  a  prefix  denoting  their  immediate  locality.  Thus  we  have  the  lliiih 
Banks  at  Portage,  the  Mount-Morris  High  Banks,  and,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  valley, 
the  High   Banks  below  the  lower  foil  at  Rochester. 

To  the  tourist  who  is  possessed  of  a  full  measure  of  courage  and  strength,  a  journey 
along  the  river's  shore  from  the  lower  falls  to  the  valley  will  reveal  wonders  of  natural 
architecture  hardly  exceeded  by  the  caHons  of  the  far  West.  Here,  hidden  beiuath 
the  shadows  of  the  overhanging  walls  of  rock,  it  is  hard  to  imagine  that,  just  boyond 
that  line  of  Norway  pines  that  forms  a  fringe  against  the  sky  above,  lie  fertile  tields 
and  quiet  homes.  A  just  idea  of  the  depth  of  this  continuous  ravine  can  best  l)c 
secured  by  an  ascent  to  one  of  the  projecting  points  above,  where,  resting  on  a  lodge 
of  rock,  the  river  is  seen  at  one  point  six  hundred  feet  below,  a  distance  which  changes 
with  the  varying  surface  of  the  land  above.  At  certain  points  the  river  seems  to  have 
worn  out  a  wider  channel  than  it  can  now  fill,  and  here  are  long,  narrow  levels  of  rich, 
alluvial  soil;  and,  if  it  be  the  harvest -season,  we  can  catch  glimpses  of  life  in  these 
deep-down  valleys,  pigmy  men  and  horses  gathering  in  a  miniature  harvest  of  maize  or 
wheat ,  while,  at  noonday,  the  rich  golden  yellow  of  the  ripened  grain  contrasts  strangely 
with  the  deep,  emerald  green  of  the  sloping  sides  or  the  dull  gray  of  the  slaty  walls 
beyond. 


m^mm 


senccas  remained 
;ca  met  only  as 
when  the  jj;niiul- 
id   there    smoked 

le  falling  autuinii 
if  that   wild   race 

for  the  distance 
5tecp  and  rufjired 
dcnly  come  u|)on 
arrovver  channels, 

current  between 
early  resembles  a 
ting  rocks  wliieh 

cavern's  bed,  so 
us  pathway  leads 
a;e  falls  ;    and  tin 

the  broad  valley 

name    rendered 

have    the    Ilijili 

id   of  the  valley, 

rength,  a  journey 
nders  of  natural 
hidden  beneath 
lat,  just  beyond 
lie  fertile  tiekls 
lie  can  best  he 
ing  on  a  ledge 
which  chansjes 
seems  to  have 
V  levels  of  rich, 
of  life  in  these 
St  of  maize  or 
itrasts  stnuii^vly 
the   slaty   walls 


r//£    VALLEY    OF    THE    GENESEE.  361 

Although  the  point  where  the  river  enters  the  ravine  at  Portage  is  but  twelve  miles 
in  a  direct  line  from  that  of  its  exit  at  Mount  Morris,  the  distance,  following  its  winding 
course  among  the  hills,  is  much  greater.  Having  traversed  this  distance,  however,  we  are 
hrouiiht  suddenly  into  the  presence  of  a  scene  the  direct  antithesis  of  all  that  has  gone 
before.     Emerging  through  what   is   literally   a    rocky   gate-way,  the    whole    mood   of  the 


Elms  on   the   Genesee   Flats. 

river   seems    to  have    changed    with    that    of    its    surroundings.     In   order   to   make   this 

change  as  conspicuous  as  possible,  we  ascend  to  one  of  the  two  summits  of  the  terminal 

hills.      Standing   upon    this,    and    shaded    by   the    grand    oaks   which   crown    it,   we   have 

but   to   turn    the   eye    southward   to    take   in  at   a  glance  the  whole  valley  below,  which 

is  a  grand  park,  reaching  far  away  to  the  south.     The  sloping  highlands  are   dotted    here 

and   there  with   rural  villages,  whose  white   church-spires   glisten    in   the    rich,  warm    sun- 
in 


362 


riC TUR USQUE    AMERICA. 


light.  Below  and  around  arc  tho  mead- 
ows and  alluvial  places  known  as  th, 
Genesee  I-'lats. 

The  present  view  embraces  Inoad, 
level  fields,  marked  out  by  well  -  lu|it 
fences,  enclosing  areas  often  one  luuulrcd 
acres  in  extent.  Should  it  l)e  the  liai- 
vest-season,  we  may  distinguish  aliiKist  at 
our  feet  broad  fields  crossed  their  riuiic 
lengtii  by  endless  rows  of  riehly-tassilled 
broom-corn.  To  the  rigiit  arc  the  justlv- 
celebrated  nurseries,  with  their  liius  (,i 
miniature  fruit  and  shade  trees;  tin  dis- 
tant slopes  are  ilotted  with  the  yuldni 
wheat-harvests ;  while,  reaching  far  ;i\\  iv 
to  the  south,  are  the  rich  meadow-Kind< 
^       of    the    Cienesee.       In    the    midst    of  all 

u 
c 

i  Hows  the  river,  its  waters  giving  life  ami 
"  beauU  to  the  numerous  groves  of  ()ak^ 
\  and  elms  which  shadow  its  course.  It  jv 
in  fact,  a  broad  lawn,  unbroken  save  In 
an  occasional  hillock,  with  here  and  then 
groves  of  rare  old  oaks,  l)eneath  wlioy 
shade  droves  of  cattle  graze  at  leiMiic 
These  groups  of  oaks  and  elms  ww-  ,1 
marked  feature  of  the  Hats,  and  manv 
of  our  most  famous  landseajie-painters— 
among  otluis  Casilear,  Coleman,  Dui.md 
and  Kensett— have  taken  up  their  .iImkIi 
heie  in  order  to  secure  sketches  ol  llien 
"tins,"  which  have  afterward  figund  1^ 
among  the  most  attractive  features  ol 
their  fmished  w(»rks. 

Thi-i  valley,  like  all  others  waleieii 
by  rivers  taking  their  rise  in  ncighbdrini; 
mounlain-districts,  is  suljcct  to  fre(juent  and  oecasionillv  disastrous  inundations,  fdr- 
tunalcly.  however,  the  moods  of  the  river  are  oftene^t  in  accord  with  those  ol  tin 
varying  seasons ;  for  this  reason  freshets  seUlom  come  upon  the  ungathered  har\esls. 
The   possibility   of  this  event,  however,  leads  the   landhtdders  to   reserve   their   meutlows 


und   are   tho    mead- 
CCS    known    ;is    tlif 

\v  embraces  1 1  road, 
out  by  well  -  kc|)t 
i  often  one  iunulRil 
.)ul{l  it  be  tin-  hai- 
:iistinfruish  alnidst  at 
crossed  their  ciuiif 
i's  of  riehly-tasstllcd 
right  are  the  jiisllv- 
with  their  lim  s  of 
hade  trees ;  the  di'.. 
•d  with  the  uoiikn 
,  reaciiini!;  far  aw.u 
>  rich  meadow-hiiid> 
1  the  midst  (if  all 
aters  giving  Ijir  aiuj 
Otis  groves  of  ()ak> 
)\v  its  course.     It  \\ 

unbroken  save  in 
with  here  and  tlirn 
aks,  i)eneatl)  whosi 
le  graze  at  leisuic. 
ts  and  elms  .iic  a 
ie     Hals,    and    ni.mv 

mdscape-paiiitcrs- 
-,  Colenum,  Dm.nid 
cen  up  iheii  alxidi 
e  sketches  ol  tJKH 
heiward  figuml  i^ 
I  active    features   of 

all  others  w.iitid 
rise    in   ncighiidriiii; 

iiumdations,  I'ur- 
with  those  ol  llu 
ingat  lured  harvests, 
rve    lluir   meadows 


SHRS^^^STSKS^-' 


!s55r»j3T5«w*"?s"f^?^T 


364 


PIC TURESQ UE    AMERICA . 


l-.asl    M(li-.     I  |i|ui  .  lalU    "I    llii-    ( .tni'M-'i'. 


upon  llif  lints  1(11  frra/inn  purposes,  and  hentr  the  ilamajic  ol  a  Hood  is  mainly  dni- 
fined  to  llif  deslruction  of  fences  and  .111  occasional  hav-l»arrack.  The  rejjular  mnr- 
rence    of   these    inundations  affects,   also,   the   laying  out  of  the   hi)ih\vays.      Were    it    not 


^•j>;.j'^>»" 


ii   ..  .  -^  J,. 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    GENESEE. 


36: 


V    •' 


^It 


We»t    Side,    Upper    Kails   of  the   Geneue. 


Ill  is  mainly  o'li 
Ik'  rcfjular  imir- 
s.      Wore    il    iiDi 


for  the  Hoods,  the  main  avenues  n()rth  and  south  would  natnrallv  ho  snrvevcd  along 
till-  level  land  of  the  flats.  As  ii  is,  however,  these  highways  lead  along  the  adjacent 
Hill -sides,    with    an    otrasional    road    leading    across    the    vallcv.      Among    the    iin|ii.rl.int 


366 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


and  most  frequented  of  these  avenues  is  that  leacUn^  from  the  villafje  of  Mount  Mor- 
ris southward,  and  known  as  the  Mount  -  Morris  Turnpike.  It  is  along  this  that 
our  southward  journey  now  tends,  the  objective  point  being  the  lovely  village  of 
Geneseo. 

This  village  is  the  shire  town  of  Livingston  County,  within  the  boundaries  of  which 
the  richest  of  the  valley-lands  are  situated.  It  stands  upon  the  eastern  slopes  of  the 
valley,  tiie  river,  at  its  nearest  point,  running  half  a  mile  distant.  The  history  of 
Geneseo  is  that  of  the  valley  itself,  since  it  was  here  that  many  of  the  first  wliitc 
settlements  were  made.  We  enter  its  limits  from  the  south,  and  the  first  suggestion  of 
its  presence  is  the  old  Wadsworth  homestead,  whose  broad  porticos,  facing  westward, 
command  a  glorious  view  of  all  the  rich  domain  below.  The  grounds  that  belong  to 
this  old  mansion  mark  the  southern  limit  of  the  village  proper,  the  entrance  to  which  is 
bounded  by  the  homestead-grounds  upon  the  right,  and  an  old,  prim-looking  village  park 
upon  the  left.  Leaving  the  artist  to  obtain  his  tiesired  sketch  of  the  valley  from  this 
point,  we  will  turn  our  back  upon  him  for  the  ])resent,  while  wc  ascend  the  avenue 
marking  the  southern  boundary  of  the  town,  and  reverently  enter  the  "  X'illage  on  the 
Hill."  Here  lies,  in  the  peace  and  rest  that  come  after  noble  service,  all  that  remains 
of  one  of  New  Vorks  most  illustr'  ms  citizens.  General  James  S.  Wadsworth,  who,  after 
distinguished  service  ir.  the  field,  fell  "  with  his  face  to  the  foe  "  in  the  battle  of  the  Wil- 
derness. 

Along  the  western  slope  of  the  hill,  upon  the  summit  of  which  is  this  village  of  the 
dead,  rests  the  village  of  the  living  ;  and  one  might  go  far  to  find  a  moie  perfect  niiai 
hamlet.  The  streets,  which  run  at  right  angles,  are  lined  with  graceful  shade-trees ;  uiil 
the  view  from  those  running  east  and  west  embraces  that  of  the  rich  valley  in  the  lore- 
ground,  and,  in  the  distance,  the  undulating  harvest-fields.  That  dark  opening  in'o  the 
hill-side  towaril  the  south  is  the  gate-way  through  which  the  ri\er  enters  the  valley ; 
while,  far  away  northward,  that  cone-sha|)ed  eminence  maiks  the  suburbs  of  the  cit\  of 
Rochester,  our  ne.xt  objective  i)oint,  and  the  limit  of  our  valley  tour. 

Transferring  ourselves  and  baggage,  including  the  artist's  easel  and  the  touiist's  piut- 
foliii,  from  the  lumbering  stage  to  llie  less  rural  but  more  expeditious  rail-car,  \\v  are 
soon  under  way,  northward  bound.  The  railway  that  serves  as  a  means  of  exit  Ikhh 
the  region  of  the  up|)er  valley  is  a  branch  of  the  L'ric,  known  as  tlie  (ienesee  X'alitv 
road.  It  connects  the  ci»y  of  Rochester  with  the  valley  villages  of  Avon,  Geneseo, 
Mount  Morris,  and  now  Dansville,  the  last  a  flourishing  town  seated  upon  one  of  the 
tributaries  of  the  Genesee,  and  thus  being  entitled  to  a  place  among  this  beautiful  sister- 
hood. At  Avon  this  road  crosses  the  northern  Immch  of  the  V.x'w.  At  this  point  are 
the  justly-famous  sulj)hur  springs ;  and,  if  the  health-giving  properties  of  these  waters 
ate  in  any  degree  commensurate  with  their  mineral  strength,  Avon  deserves  a  li'mt 
rank    among  the    lualth -resorts    of  the    State.      Continuing   our  journey    twenty    mile^ 


ill 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    GENESEE. 


1^1 


of  Mount  Mor- 
along  this  that 
)vcly    villa^rf   of 

indaiics  of  which 
11    slopes   of  the 
The   history   of 
tlif    first    wliitc 
St    suggestion  of 
facing   westward, 
Is  that  l)elong  to 
ancc  to  whicli  is 
king  village  jMik 
\allcy    from    this 
L:end    the    avenue 
"  Village  on  the 
,  all  that  remains 
worth,  who,  alitr 
>attle  of  the  Wil- 
lis village  of  llir 
lore   perfect  rural 
shade-trees ;    iiul 
illey  in  the  Ibrc- 
peiiing    into  the 
iters    the    vaiit  \  ; 
IS  of   the  city  uf 

ic  tourist's  port- 

^    rail-ear,  we  .ik 

ns    of   exit    In  mi 

(lenesei'  X'.iili  \ 

Avon,  Genescd. 

ipoii   one    ol    the 

^  lieautiful  sisti  I 

\l  this  point  an 

of   these    wall  I- 

leserves    a    li"Ui 

V    twenty    iml'^ 


,.,,'^''^  .^'^''^"  '  ''^       "'  reservoir  to   the   streams   from    which  the  sup- 

ply is  received.  In  its  eaily  days,  the  life  of 
the  city  was  dependent  upon  the  harvest  of  the  valley  ;  when  these  were  ahundant,  then 
all  went  well.  Having  already  referred  to  the  wheat-product  of  tin-  valley,  we  can  readily 
understand  the  need  and  consequent  prosperity  of  the  city,  which  has  long  l>een  known  as 
the  "  Flour  City  of  the  West."  Although  now  ranking  as  the  fifth  city  in  the  State,  there 
are  yet  living  many  persons  whose  childhood  tlates  hack  of  that  (>f  the  city  in  which  they 
dwell.     From  a  brief  historical  sketch  on  the  suhject,  we    learn    that,  in  e.xpiessing  aston- 


f 


If' .  i 


368 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


ishmcnt  at  the  career  of  Rochester,  De  Witt  Clinton  remarked,  shortly  before  his  death, 
that,  when  he  passed  the  Genesee  on  a  tour  with  other  commissioners  for  exploring  ilie 
route  of  the  Erie  Canal,  in  18 10,  there  was  not  a  house  where  Rochester  now  stands. 
It  was  not  till  the  year  181 2  that  the  "Hundred-acre  Tract,"  as  it  was  then  called,  was 
planned  out  as  the  nucleus  of  a  settlement  under  the  name  of  Rochester,  after  the  senior 
proprietor,  Nathaniel  Rochester.  "In  the  year  1814,"  writes  one  of  these  pioneers,  "1 
cleared  three  or  four  acres  of  ground  on  which  the  Court-House,  St.  Luke's  Church. 
First  Presbyterian  Church,  and  School-house  No.  i,  now  stand,  and  sowed  it  to  wheat, 
and  had  a  fine  crop.  The  harvesting  cost  me  nothing,  as  it  zuas  most  effectually  done 
by  the  squirrels,  coons,  and  other  ivild  beasts  of  the  forest.  Scarcely  three  years,  liow- 
ever,  had  elapsed  before  the  ground  was  mostly  occupied  with  buildings."  From  ihi'^ 
and  abundant  kindred  testimony,  it  is  evident  that  the  early  pioneers  of  this  western 
region  were  men  of  energy  and  foresight,  who  saw  in  the  valley  of  the  Genesee  the 
"garden-plot  of  the  West,"  and  in  the  then  village  of  Rochester  the  future  "Granarv 
of  America." 

Having  already  referred  to  the  second  series  of  falls  and  high  banks,  we  will  again 
return  to  the  guidance  of  the  river  as  it  enters  the  city  limits  at  its  southern  bounilaries. 
Its  course  lies  directly  across  or  through  the  centre  of  the  city,  the  main  avenues,  runninj; 
east  and  west,  being  connected  by  sc  eral  iron  bridges,  with  the  exception  of  that  known 
as  the  Main-Street   Briilge,  which  is  of  stone,  and  the  two  wooden  railway-bridges. 

It  is  at  the  city  of  Rochester  that  the  Erie  Canal  encounters  the  Genesee  River, 
whicii  it  crosses  upon  the  massive  stone  acjueduct,  that  has  long  been  regarded  as  oni 
of  the  most  important  works  of  American  engineers.  In  its  present  course  the  river  ha*- 
rather  the  appearance  of  a  broad  canal,  save  that  the  current  is  rapid,  and,  at  timc'^ 
l)oisterous.  The  shores  are  lined  by  huge  stone  mills  and  factories,  the  foundation-walls 
of  which  act  the  part  of  dikes  in  conlming  the  waters  to  their  legitimate  channels.  At 
a  point  near  the  Erie  Railway  depot  the  river  is  crossed  by  a  broad  dam,  from  eithei 
side  of  which  the  waters  are  led  in  two  mill-races,  which  pass  under  the  streets  ami 
conduct  tiie  waters  to  the  mills  along  the  route.  At  a  point  somewhat  below  the 
centre  of  the  city,  and  yet  directly  within  'its  limits,  are  the  First  or  Upper  falls 
These  aie  ninety -six  feet  in  height,  and  it  is  thus  evident  that,  with  such  a  cita- 
ract  in  the  centre  of  the  city,  the  facilities  for  obtaining  water-power  could  haicil\'  be 
excelled.  The  mill-races  conduct  the  main  supply  along  the  two  ojiposite  shores,  and,  a*- 
the  mills  are  mainly  situated  below  the  level  of  the  falls,  ^he  full  force  of  the  water  can 
i)e  utilized.  Ihe  illustrations  of  the  Upper  Fall  have  been  so  designed  that  the  two 
combined  present  a  full  view  of  the  whole  front  as  viewed  from  the  chasm  below,  tiie 
darkened  channels  through  which  the  water  from  the  races  are  returned  to  the  river 
being  shown  to  the  right  and  left. 

The    brink    (if   this    fall   marks   the    i:pper    limit    of   a   .second    series   of  high    banks 


THE    VALLEY    OF    THE    GENESEE. 


369 


before  his  death, 
for  exploring  the 
lester  now  stands. 
5  then  called,  was 
;r,  after  the  senior 
hese  pioneers,  "  1 
It.  Luke's  Church, 
wed  it  to  wheat, 
st  effectually  done 

three  years,  how- 
ings."  From  \.V\< 
rs   of  this  western 

the   Genesee  the 

future    "  Gninarv 

nks,  we  will  nijain 
)uthern  boundaries. 
n  avenues,  runiiinp 
ion  of  that  known 
Iway-bridjjes. 
he  Genesee  River, 
I  regarded  as  one 
)urse  the  river  lias 
pid,  and,  at  times, 
le  foundation-walls 
iiate  channels.  At 
1  dam,  from  either 
ler  tiie  streets  and 
newhat    below   the 

or  Tpper  I'alls. 
with  such  a  eata- 
er  could  hardly  he 
site  shores,  and.  as 

of  the  water  1  an 
ined    that   the  iwo 

chasm  below,  tlic 
rned    to    the    liver 

es   of  high    hanks 


similar  in  general  character  to  those  that  lie  between  Portage  and  Mount  Morris.  The 
height  of  these  walls  at  certain  points  exceeds  three  hundred  feet.  i\t  the  distance  of 
ahoiil  a  mile  from  the  Upper  Fall,  a  second  descent  of  about  twenty-five  feet  is  followed, 
at  the  distance  of  a  few  rods  only,  by  the  Third  or  Lower  Falls,  which  are  nearly  one 
hundred  feet  in  height.  It  thus  appears  that,  within  the  limits  of  the  city,  the  waters 
of  tiic  Cienesee  make  a  descent,  including  the  falls  and  the  rapids  above  them,  of  two 
hundred  and  sixty  feet,  and  the  water-power,  as  estimated  for  the  U|iper  Fall  alone, 
equals  forty  thousand  horse-power.  Among  the  interesting  features  of  Rochester  are  its 
nurseries  and  seed-gardens,  the  largest  in  the  world. 

As  the  river  has  now  reached  the  level  of  Lake  Ontario,  it  assumes  the  character 
of  a  deep-set  harbor,  and  the  vessels  engaged  in  lake-traffic  can  ascend  it  five  miles  to 
the  foot  of  the  Lower  balls.  The  port  of  entry,  however,  is  at  the  mouth  of  tire  river, 
where  stands  the  village  of  Charlotte.  Here  are  wharves  a  light-house,  and  a  railroad- 
depot,  which  road  leads  direct  to  Rochester. 


vf 


I     f 


Liglit-housr,    C'harluttc. 


^mm 


THE  ST.  LAWRENCE  AND  THE  SAGUENAY. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATION'S    BY    JAMKS    D.    SMILLIE. 


KiUraiice  tu    Thousand    Klaiuls 


I 


r  is  tliiLH'  oVlocU  dl'  ;i  liiiH-  inomiiij^  on  ilu'   St.  I.awrnicc;  tlu'  little  city  ol   Kinji'-ton 
is   as    last    asleep    as    its    fouiulcr,  the  old    I'leiicliinaii    Ue    Courccllcs ;   the  moon  i"- 


TJIE    ST.    LAWRENCE    AND    THE    SAGUENAY. 


371 


ebl)in,i,'  before  the  breakinj^  day ;  a  phantom-like  sloop  is  creeping  slowly  across  the 
sniootli  stream.  At  the  steamboat-wharf  there  is  a  little  blaze  of  light  and  a  rush  of 
noisv  life,  which  breaks,  but  does  not  penetrate,  the  surrounding  silence.  The  Lake- 
Ontario  steamer  lias  brought  a  pack  of  eager  tourists  into  the  town — not  to  stav,  for 
aiiollier  vessel  is  in  waiting,  ready  to  bear  them  dowi  the  river,  through    the    rapids    and 


:;i.tMt'_^v'i<^" 


H 

1'! 
i 

j 

I,ight-I louses   .unonj;    Uic   'I'housand    Islands. 


eily  of  King^'to 
les ;    the  moon  i 


the  channels  of  the  Thousand  Islands,  to  Montreal.  The  pent-up  steam  screams  through 
ilie  pipes ;  lamps  gleam  fitfully  among  barricades  of  freight  and  baggaj'^e  on  the  wharf ; 
nun's  voices  mingle  hoarsely.  "All  aboard!"  The  bell  rings  out  its  farewell  notes;  tlie 
whisile  pipes  its  shrill  warning  into  the  night,  and  the  Spartan  slips  her  moorings,  to  the 
pleasure  of  the  sleepy  travellers  who  crowd  lier  decks  and  cabins.     By  this  lime  the  east 


.Viuuny    llic    lluiuauiid    islands. 

is  tinted  purple,  amber,  and  roseate.  Night  is  fast  retreating.  Ardent  young  couples,  on 
Ihiir  wedding-journev,  are  a  notable  element  among  our  fellow-travellers;  but  there  are 
all  sorts  of  other  people  from  the  States,  with  here  and  there  a  chubby,  lloriil,  drawling 
Ijitilishman.  Most  of  us  are  journeying  on  round-trip  tickets  from  New  ^'ork,  and  are 
as  intimate  with  one  another's  aims  and  ends  as   if  we  were  crossing  the  ocean  together. 


w 


372 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


We  all  came  up  the  Hudson  in  the  Vibbaid;  all  occupied  the  same  Pullman  car  between 
Albany  and  Niagara,  and  will  all  rush  to  the  same  hotels  in  Montreal  and  Quebec,  as 
fashion  bids  us.  Soon  after  leaving  Kingston,  we  bestir  ourselves,  and  choose  elisiihle 
seats  in  the  forward  part  of  the  boat.  We  chat  without  restraint,  and  expectation  is  rife 
as  we  near  the  famed  Thousand  Islands.  The  descriptions  we  have  read  and  the  stories 
we  have  heard  of  the  jianorama  before  us  flock  vividly  into  our  memories.  We  arc  all 
accoutred  with  guide-books,  maps,  and  books  of  Indian  legend.  One  sweet  little  neighlior 
of  ours,  in  regulation  lavender,  brings  out  a  neatly-written  copy  of  Tom  Moore's  "  Row, 


'■:^m  ^4^t 


Belneen   Wellesley    Island  and   the  Canadian    Shore. 


1i 
<    i 

t   \ 


Brothers,  row,"  which  she  holds  in  her  pretty  hand,  ready  to  recite  to  hei  luisband  the 
very  moment  St.  Anne's  comes  into  view.  Meanwhile  she  is  fearful  that  St.  Anne's  may 
slip  by  unnoticed,  notwithstanding  the  assurances  made  to  her  that  the  much-desired  St 
Anne's  is  twelve  hours'  sail  ahead  of  us.  How  lightly  she  laughs  as  the  boat's  white 
stem  cleaves  the  cool,  gray  surface !  and  how  enthusiastically  she  repeats  Ruskin  as 
the  colors  in  the  morning  sky  grow  warmer  and  deeper,  and  as  the  sun  rises  directly 
ahead  of  us,  opening  a  golden  pathway  on  the  water!  and  how  prettily  surprised  she  is 
when  her  beloved  tells  her  that  the  Thousand   Islands  number  one  thousand  six   hundred 


THE    ST.    LAWRENCE    AND     THE    SAG UE NAY. 


Ill 


Iman  car  between 
and  Quebec,  as 
d  choose  eliyible 
jxpectation  is  rife 
id  and  the  stories 
ries.  We  are  all 
}et  little  neighbor 
n  Moore's  "  Row, 


hei  husband  tlu 
at  St.  Anne's  may 

much-desired  St. 
3  the  boat's  white 
epeats  Ruskin  as 
sun  rises  directly 
y  surprised  slie  is 
isand  six   hundred 


and  ninety-two,  as  may  be  ascertained  in  the  Treaty  of  Ghent  !  Still  listening  to  her 
childish  prattle,  we  are  further  occu])ied  with  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  the  numerous 
dots  of  land  that  lie  in  our  course — the  Thousand  Islands. 

Are  we   disappointed  ?      That  is  the  question  which  most  of  us  projiound  before  we 
proceed  many  miles.     There  is  little  variety  in  their  form  and  covering.     So   much    alike 


lintering  the    Kapids. 

are  they  in  these  respects  that  our  steamer  might  be  almost  at  a  stand-still  for  all  the 
change  we  notice  as  she  threads  her  way  through  the  thirty-nine  miles  which  they  thickly 
intersperse.  In  size  they  differ  much,  however,  some  being  only  a  few  yards  in  extent, 
and  others  several  miles.  The  verdure  on  most  of  them  is  limited  to  a  sturdy  growth 
of  lir  and  pine,  with  occasionally  some  scrubby  undergrowth,  which  sprouts  with  northern 


Ir 


: ,  1  ■  r- 


1-  '  r- 


H;-> 


'WF  '^ 


I'     t 


374 


riCIURESQVE    AMERICA. 


vigor  from  crevices  in  the  rocky  bed.  The  light-Iioiiscs  wliivh  mark  out  our  ciiannil  are 
a  pictures(]ue  feature,  and  are  nearly  as  frequent  as  the  islands  themselves ;  but  all  arc 
drearily  alike — fragile  wooden  structures,  about  twenty  feet  high,  uniformly  wliitewashcd. 
As  the  Spartan  speeds  on,  breaking  the  rippling  surface  into  tumultuous  waves,  we  meet 
a  small  boat,  pulled  by  a  lonely  man,  who  attends  to  the  lamps  from  the  shore,  lighting 
them  at  sunset,  and  putting  them  out  at  sunrise.  Some  anglers  are  also  afloat,  and  anon 
a  large  fish  sparkles  at  the  end  of  their  line,  and  is  safely  drawn  aboard.  The  islands 
are  famous  for  sport,  by-the-way.  Tish  of  the  choicest  varieties  and  the  greatest  size 
abound  in  their  waters,  and  wild-fowl  of  every  sort  lurk  on  their  shores.  Thev  also 
have  tiieir  legends  and  romances,  and  the  guide-books  tell  us,  in  elocpient  language,  of 
the  adventures  of  the  "patriots"  who  sought  refuge  among  their  labyrinths  during  the 
Canadian  insurrection.  As  the  sun  mounts  yet  higher,  and  the  mist  and  haze  dis|irrse, 
we  run  between  Wellesley  Island  and  the  Canadian  shore,  and  obtain  one  of  the  most 
charming  views  of  the  passage.      The  verdure  is  more  plentiful  and   the  forms   are   more 


Montreal    Ist.ind. 


graceful  than  we  ■!  ive  previously  seen.  Tall  reeds  and  water-grasses  crop  out  ot  the 
shoals.  An  abrupt  rock  throws  a  reddish-brown  rcllection  on  the  current,  which  is 
skimmed  by  a  flock  of  birds  in  dreamy  flight.  The  banks  of  the  island  and  the  main- 
land slope  with  easy  gradations,  inclining  into  several  bays ;  and  afar  a  barrier  seems  to 
arise  where  the  river  turns  and  is  lost  in  the  distance.  Thence  we  steam  on  in  an  en- 
thusiastic  mood  toward  Prcscott,  satisfied  with  the  beauties  wc  have  seen,  and  airive 
there  at  breakfast-time,  five  hours  and  a  half  after  leaving  Kingston.  Our  preconcep- 
tions— have  they  been  realized  ?  Scarcely.  But  an  artist  in  our  company  tells  us,  con- 
solingly, that  preconceptions  are  a  hinderance  to  enjoyment,  and  ought  to  be  avoided. 
and  that  when  he  first  visited  the  Yosemite,  last  summer,  he  spent  several  days  in  getting 
rid  of  idle  dreams  before  he  could  appreciate  the  majesty  and  glory  of  the  real  scene. 

IJelow  Prcscott  we  pass  an  old  windmill  on  a  low  cajjc,  where  the  insurrectionists 
established  themselves  in  1837  ;  and,  two  miles  farther,  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  gray  old 
French   fortification   on    Chimney   Island.      Here,  too,  we   descend  the  first  rapids  of  the 


THE    ST.    LAWRENCE    AND    THE    SAG UE NAY. 


375 


our  cliannt'l  arc 
Ives ;  but  all  arc 
mly  vvhitevvashed. 

waves,  we  iiicct 
le  shore,  ligliting 

alloat,  and  anon 
id.  The  islands 
tlie  greatest  size 
lores.  They  also 
ient  hingua,<>(',  of 
inths  during  tlit 
id  haze  dis|n'isc, 
one  of  the  most 

forms   arc    more 


crop  out  of  the 
urrcnt,    which   is 

1(1  and  the  main- 
barrier  scciiis  Kj 

m    on   in    an   en- 

« 

seen,  and  arrive 
Our  preconccp- 
any  tells  us,  con- 
t  to  be  avoided. 
il  days  in  getting 
the  real  scene, 
c  insurrectionists 
ISC  of  a  gray  old 
rst  rapids  of  the 


j.jypr — the  Gallopc  and  the  Dcplau  Rapids — with  full  steam  on.  No  excitement,  no 
brcatiilessness,  attends  us  so  far  in  our  journe}^  Engravings  w(^  have  seen  represent  the 
water  as  seething  white,  with  a  preposterous  steamer  reeling  through  it  at  a  fearful  rate. 
The  passengers  gather  in  a  mass  on  the  forward  deck,  and  brace  their  nerves  for  the 
anticipated  sensation.  They  wait  in  vain.  The  Gallopes  and  Dcplaus  are  passed  almost 
without  their  knowledge.  But  we  are  nearing  the  famous  Long-Sault  Rapids,  the 
passage  of  which,  we  know,  must  be  thrilling.  An  Indian  pilot  comes  on  board  to  guide 
us  thiough — at  least,  the  guide-book  assures  us  that  he  is  an  Indian,  and  supplements  its 
text  with  a  corroborative  |)ortrait  of  a  brave,  in  war-paint  and  feathers,  standing  singlc- 
handecl  at  the  helm — and,  as  he  enters  the  wheel-house  on  the  upper  deck,  he  is  an 
absorl)ing  object  of  interest.  A  stout,  sailorly  fellow  he  appears,  without  an  aboriginal 
trait  about  iiim,  or  a  single  feather,  or  a  dab  of  paint.  There  are  some  bustling  |)repara- 
tions  among  the  crew  for  what  is  coming.  Four  men  stand  by  tiie  double  wheel  in  the 
house  overhead,  and  two  others  man  the  tiller  astern,  as  a  precaution  against  the  break- 
ing of  a  rudder-rope.  Passengers  move  nervously  on  their  seats,  and  glance  first  ahead, 
and  then  at  the  captain  standing  on  the  upper  deck,  with  one  hand  calinly  folded  in  his 
breast,  and  the  other  grasping  the  signal-bell.  Timid  ladies  are  pale  and  affrighted ; 
young  faces  are  glowing  with  excitement.  The  paddles  are  yet  churning  the  water  into 
snowy  foam.  We  sweep  past  the  scene  of  the  battle  of  Chrysler's  Farm  without  noticing 
it.  Ill  a  few  seconds  more  we  shall  be  in' the  rapids.  The  uneasy  motions  of  the  ])as- 
scngcrs  cease  altogether,  and  their  attention  is  engrossed  by  the  movements  of  the 
eaplain's  hand.  As  he  is  seen  to  raise  it,  and  the  bell  is  heard  in  the  engine-room,  the 
vibrations  of  the  huge  vessel  die  away;  the  water  leaps  tempestuously  around  her,  and 
she  i)auscs  an  instant  like  a  thing  of  life,  bracing  herself  for  a  crisis,  before  she  ])lunges 
into  the  boiling  current  and  rides  defiantly  down  it.  It  is  a  grand,  thrilling  moment; 
but  it  is  only  a  moment.  The  next  instant  she  is  speeding  e)n  as  quietly  as  ever,  wit'  out 
oilier  jierceptible  motion  than  a  slight  roll.  The  rapids  are  nine  miles  long,  md  are 
diviiletl  in  the  centre  by  a  picturesque  island,  the  southern  course  usually  being  chosen 
by  the  steamers.  The  Spartan  ran  the  distance  in  half  an  hour,  without  steam,  and  then 
emerged  into  the  waters  of  Lake  St.  Francis,  which  is  twenty-five  miles  long  and  five 
and  a  half  miles  wide. 

This  exjianse  exhibits  few  interesting  features,  and  we  have  ample  opportunity  to 
cool  from  the  excitement  caused  by  the  descent  of  the  rapids.  The  banks  (jf  the  lake 
arc  deserted,  and  the  only  human  habitatitms  seen  are  in  the  little  village  of  Lancaster. 
Wc  are  impressed,  indeed,  from  our  start,  with  the  few  evidences  of  life  in  the  river 
couiitiy  and  on  the  river  itself.  There  are  not  many  farm-houses  or  fine  residences — 
onlv  a  few  small  villages,  of  a  humble  character  for  the  most  part,  and  an  occasional 
town.  The  drear  monotony  of  our  passage  through  Lake  St.  Francis  is  followed  by 
renewed  excitement  in  the  descent  of  the   Cedar   Rapids,  at  the  foot   of  which  we  enter 


l\X 


\v 


•asr 


■imKif,u.')jA!^;^i:rwgv_ifi>^^^;i^j^^Kfi^^^ 


376 


P/C  TURESQ UE    AMERICA. 


Lake  St.  Louis.  Uninteresting  as  is  Lake  St.  Francis,  still  more  so  is  the  sheet  of  water 
now  before  us,  bordered  as  it  is  l)y  flat  lands  reminding  us  of  the  Southern  bayous.  JUit 
it  is  here  we  get  our  first  glimpse  of  the  bold  outlines  of  Montreal  Island,  rising  soltlv 
in  the  background  ;  and  here,  too,  the  river  Ottawa,  ending  in  the  rapids  of  St.  Anne's, 
pours  its  volume  into  the  greater  St.  Lawrence.  Contemplating  the  expanse  in  the  suli- 
dued  evening  liglit,  it  impresses  us  with  a  depressing  sense  of  primitive  desolation— a 
vague,  untrodden  emptiness — and   infuses   melanchol)'  into   our    feelings    without    e.xcitiiijr 


Kiver  IrDMi.    Monlrcal. 

our  sympathies.  But  soon  we  arc  aroused  to  a  more  agrceal)le  and  becoming  frame  ni 
mind  by  our  little  bride  in  (he  lavender  dress,  who  is  i)risklv  reciting  "  Row,  Hrotlicrs, 
row,"  to  her  submissive  (\irvdon  : 

"  '  Blow,    brcc7?s,    lilii»  I      riii-   stream    nins   fast. 
The   rapitU    arc   luMr,    .ind   tin-   (la> li^-lit's   past.'" 


A  (jueer-looking  baige,  with  a  scjuarc  sail  set,  lumbering  across  oiir  course,  and  tliitm- 
ing  a  black  shadow  on  the  water  that  is  now  riihlv  tinted  with  |Hirpl«'  and  deep  red;  .1 
light-house  at  the  extremitv  of  a  shoal,  vet  tudighted  ;  a  mass  of  drift-wood,  slugfji'^iilv 
moving   with    the   current  ;   a  puff  of  sniuke,  hovering  about    the    isolated  village  ol  St 


c:  sheet  of  water 
in  bayous.  Bin 
lul,  rising  softlv 
s  of  St.  Anne's, 
anse  in  the  suh- 
ve  desolation—;! 
vithout    e.xeiiinu 


)niin:i   frame  <il 
I'VOW,    Hiollicis, 


uiM',  .nid  lli"iu 
;hI  deep  ml ;    i 


nod,    sill^'ui-lll^ 

I    village  ol   .St 


M  U   N  T  H   B   A   L  . 


Ill 


378 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Clair — these  things  are  all  we  meet  in  our  voyage  across  the  broad  St.  Louis.  Farther 
up  the  river  there  has  been  little  more  life — once  in  a  while  a  monstrous  raft  coming 
down  from  the  wilderness,  manned  by  four  or  hve  sturdy  fellows  who  live  a  precarious 
life  in  a  rude  hut  perched  on  the  groaning  timbers.  Nothing  more  than  this — no  Indians 
skimming  the  ra})ids  in  birch  canoes,  no  vestiges  of  the  old  life  o{  this  region,  and  no 
stirring  evidences  of  the  newer  civilization.  Occasionally  we  have  met  a  steamer,  as  larifc 
as  the  Spartan,  malcing  the  upward  passage,  and  apparently  moving  through  the  fields  (in 
the  banks  of  the  river.  An  incorrigibly  practical  friend  of  ours  explains:  "A  vessel  of 
such  burden  cannot  ascend  the  rapids ;  and  canals,  with  a  system  of  locks,  have  been  cut 
in  the  land  wherever  the  rapids  occur.  Between  Kingston  and  Montreal  there  are  eight 
canals,  forty-one  miles  long,  and  supjilied  witii  twenty-seven  locks,  capable  of  admitting 
the  largest  paddle-steamers."  The  same  frientl,  incited  by  our  inquiries,  has  much  pie  sure 
in  adding  several  other  facts  about  the  river  for  our  information :  "  The  St.  Lawrence  was 
originally  called  the  Great  River  of  Canada,  and  was  also  known  under  the  names  of 
the  Cataraqui  and  the  Iroquois.  Its  present  name  was  given  to  it  by  the  explorer 
Carticr,  who  entered  it  with  some  French  ships  on  the  festival-day  of  St.  Lawrence,  in 
1535.  He  had  been  preceded  by  one  Aubert,  a  mariner  of  Diejipe,  in  1508;  but  Cartier 
went  to  a  higher  point  than  Aubert,  anchoring  nearly  opposite  the  site  of  Quebec.  In 
1 59 1,  another  exploration  having  been  made  in  the  mean  time,  a  fleet  was  sent  out  from 
France  to  hunt  for  walruses  in  the  river;  and  the  veteran  scribe  Ilakluyt  announces  that 
fifteen  thousand  of  these  animals  were  killed  in  a  single  season  by  the  crew  of  one 
small  bark." 

Here  the  practical  man  is  interrupted.  The  steamer  stops  at  the  Indian  village  of 
Caughnawaga,  and,  after  a  short  delay,  proceeds  toward  the  Lachii.e  Rapids.  In  the 
descent  of  these  we  are  wrought  to  a  feverish  degree  of  excitement,  exceeding  that  pro- 
duced in  the  descent  of  the  Long  Sault.  It  is  an  intense  sensation,  terrible  to  the  faint- 
hearted, antl  exhilarating  to  the  brave.  Once — twice — we  seem  tt)  be  hurrying  on  to  a 
rock,  and  are  within  an  ace  of  total  destruction,  when  the  Spartan  yieltis  to  her  Ik  lin, 
and  swee|)s  into  another  channel.  As  we  reach  calm  water  again,  we  can  faintly  distin- 
guish in  the  growing  night  the  prim  form  of  the  Victoria  Bridge,  and  the  spires,  domes, 
anil  towers  of  Montreal,  the  commercial  metropolis  of  liriiish  North  America.  The 
gentle  hills  in  the  rear,  well  wooded  and  studded  with  dwellings,  arc  enveloped  in  a  blue 
haze,  darkening  on  the  southern  skirts,  where  the  heart  of  the  city  beats  in  vigorous  life. 
Lights  ate  gliminering  in  the  twilight  on  the  river;  black  sailing-craft  are  gliding  mys- 
teriously about  with  limp  canvas;  the  startling  shriek  of  a  locomotive  echoes  athwart,  and 
a  swiftly-moving  wn-ath  of  luminous-h)oking  smoke,  followed  by  a  streak  of  lighted  win- 
dows, marks  the  |)rogress  of  a  Hying  night  train  wheeling  beyond  the  din  and  toil  of  this 
dim  spot.  We  feel  the  sentiment  of  a  return  home  in  reaching  a  thriving,  populous  city 
again,  after  our  day's  wandering  through  the  seclusivc  garden-islaii<ls  of  the  St.  Lawrence; 


.  Louis.  Farther 
rous  raft  coininfr 
live  a  precarious 
1  this — no  Indians 
s  region,  and  no 
I  steamer,  as  larfrc 
High  the  fields  on 
IS  :  "  A  vessel  of 
ks,  have  been  cut 
al  there  are  eight 
able  uf  admitting 
las  inucli  pic  sure 

St.  Lawrence  was 
2T    the    names  of 

by  the  explorer 

St.  Lawrence,  in 
1508  ;  but  Cartier 
:  of  Quebec.  In 
^•as  sent  out  (mm 
yt  announces  th.u 

the  crew  of  one 

hulian  village  of 
Rapids.  In  the 
ceedinjf  that  imi- 
iliie  to  the  faint- 
luirying  on  to  ,1 
Ids  to  her  litlin, 
.an  faintly  di^iiii 
he  spires,  doiius, 
1  America,  iiu 
iclo[)cd  in  a  liluc 

in  vigorous  life 

are  gliding  inv- 

hoes  athwart    ind 

of  lighted  win- 
1  and  toil  of  thi-- 
iig,  populous  eitv 
he  .St.  Lawrence; 


TN£    S7:    LAWRENCE    AND    THE    SAGUENAY. 


379 


and  we  yawn  complacently  on 
our  restoration  to  the  electric 
bells,  the  attentive  waiters,  and 
unromantic  comforts  of  the 
modern  hotel. 

A  night's  rest  among  these, 
in  a  bed  of  fault'ess  whiteness, 
prepares  us  for  the  following 
day's  tramp  through  this  an- 
cient metropolis  of  the  Indians 
(which  long  bore  the  name  of 
Hochelaga)  and  modern  me- 
tropolis (jf  tlie  Canadians. 
Montieal  does  not  resemble  an 
English  city  —  the  .street?  are 
too  legular  —  and  it  does  not 
resemble  our  own  American 
cities,  than  which  it  is  more 
sul>stanti:-'ly  built.  Its  substan- 
tiality is  particularly  impressive 
—  the  limestone  wharves  ex- 
tending for  miles,  the  finely- 
paved  streets  lined,  with  mas- 
sive edifices  of  the  most  cndui- 
ing  materials,  imprinted  with 
their  constructors'  determination 
that  thev  shall  not  be  swept 
aw.iy  in  nany  generations. 
There  is  an  honest  austerity  in 
the  character  of  the  work — no 
superlluous  ornamentation,  no 
lap-tiaps  of  atchilecture.  The 
site  is  naturally  |)ictures(pic.  It 
is  on  the  southern  slope  of  a 
mountain  in  the  chain  which 
divides  the  verdant,  fertile  isl- 
and of  Montreal.  There  are 
.1  high  town  and  a  low  town, 
■^   It  Quebec;    ami  on   (he   up 


i  1 


w 


\  I 


L.^^iT— 


Itreahnrck  Stiiiri,   Que! «. 


.  sa^MK!.''¥W 


380 


PICrURESQUE    AMERICA. 


reacliing  groimd,  Icaiy  roads  windinti;  tlii()U<^h,  arc  the  villa  residences  of  the  fashionable. 
The  prospect  from  these  bosk\  heights  repays,  with  liberal  interest,  the  toil  of  the  p^■cl^•s• 
trian  who  seeks  them  from  the  citv.  Perched  on  some  balcony,  as  a  king  on  a  throne, 
he  may  survey,  on  the  fair  level  beneath  him,  the  humming  streets;  the  long  line  of 
wharves,  with  their  clustering  argosies;  the  vast  iron  tube  which  binds  the  opjmsite 
sparsely-settled  shore  to  tlie  arterial  city;  Nun's  Island,  with  its  flowery  grounds,  neatly 
laid  out;  beautiful  Helen's  Island,  thick  with  wood;  the  village  of  Laprairie,  its  tinned 
spire  glistening  like  a  spike  of  silver;  the  golden  thread  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  stretching 
beyond  the  Lachine  Rapids  into  mazes  of  heavy,  green  foliage ;  the  pretty  villages  of 
St.  Lambert,  Longueuil,  and  W-rcheres  ;  and  afor  off,  bathed  in  hax.e  and  mystery,  the 
purple  hills  of  \'ermont.  Perchance,  while  his  eye  roams  over  the  varied  picture  with 
keen  delight,  there  booms  over  the  roofs  of  the  town  the  great  bell  of  Notre-Damc,  ami 
he  saunters  down  the  height  in  answer  to  its  summons — through  hilly  lanes  of  putty 
cottages  on  tiie  outskirts  into  the  resonant  St. -James  Street ;  past  the  old  post-office, 
which  is  soon  to  be  superseded  by  a  finer  structure ;  underneath  the  granite  columns  of 
Molson's  Hank — Molson's  Bank,  as  celebrated  as  Childs's  Hank  at  Temj)le  liar;  thiousrh 
Victoria  Square,  ami  on  until  he  reaches  the  Place  d'Annes.  Here  is  the  cathedral  of 
Notre-Dame,  a  massive  structure  cajjable  uf  holding  ten  thousand  people,  with  a  front  on 
the  square  of  one  hundred  and  R)rty  feet,  and  two  towers  soaring  two  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  aliove.  Climbing  one  of  these  towers,  the  view  of  the  river  and  city  obtained 
jVoni  the  mountain-side  is  repeated,  with  the  surrounding  streets  included.  ()|)positc  the 
cathedral,  in  the  I'lacc  d 'Amies,  is  a  row  of  (liecian  buildings,  occupied  by  city  l)anks; 
on  each  side  are  similar  buildings — maii)le,  granite,  and  limestone,  appearing  largelv  in  iluir 
composition.  In  the  centre  we  may  pause  a  while  in  the  refreshing  shade  c)f  tiic  jiark. 
and  hear  the  musical  plashing  of  the  handsome  fountain  as  it  glints  in  the  bright  sun- 
light. Thence  we  wander  to  the  magnificent  water-front,  which  offers  greaicr  facilities  for 
commerce  than  that  of  any  other  American  city.  I  he  (juavs  are  of  solid  limestone,  and 
are  several  feet  below  a  spacious  esplanade,  which  runs  parallel  witli  them.  The  ears  of 
the  Grand  Trunk  Railway  bring  produce  from  the-  West  to  the  very  hatchways  of  thi 
shipping,  and  cargoes  are  transferred  in  the  shortest  possible  time  and  at  the  least  pos- 
sible expense.  Our  |)ractical  iViind  carries  us  off  to  the  Victoria  Bridge,  and  iitids 
some  of  his  |)ent-up  knowledge  on  that  subject,  which  we  listen  to  with  i)raiseworthy 
fortitude:  "Its  length  is  nearly  two  miles.  It  is  supported  by  twenty-four  piers  and  two 
abutments  of  solivl  masonry.  The  tulie  through  which  the  railwav-traek  is  laid  is  twenty- 
two  feet  high,  and  si.xteen  feel  wide.  The  total  cost  of  t'u-  structure  was  six  million 
three  hundred  thousand  dollars."  Then  we  go  to  see  the  lionsecours  Market,  the  nun- 
neries, Mount-Royal  ('emetorv,  the  imposing  Custom-Housc,  the  Nelson  Monument,  and 
the  water -works;  and  in  the  evening  we  continue  our  journey  down  the  river  to 
Quebec. 


of  the  fashioiiahlc. 
toil  of  the  indis- 
king  on  a  throne, 
;   the  long  line  of 
linds   the   opjjosite 
■ry  grounds,  neatly 
aprairie,  its  tinned 
nvrencc,  stretching 
pretty  villages  of 
and    mystery,  the 
aried  picture  with 
Notre-Danie,  and 
ly  lanes  of  piettv 
he  old  post-olTicc, 
ranite  columns  of 
pie   Bar;   through 
■;  the  cathedral  of 
e,  with  a  front  on 
[\vo    hundred   and 
and  city  ohtaincd 
i.      CJ|)posile   the 
d    l)y  city  hanks; 
ng  largelv  in  iluir 
ade  of  the   |i,uk. 
the  hright  Min- 
ealer  facilities  foi 
1  limestone,  and 
in.      The  ears  (d 
latchways  of  thi 
it    the    least  jios 
dge,    and    Utter^ 
ill)    praiseworthv 
ir  piers  ami  l\v(i 
s  laid  is  twentv- 
was    six    million 
larkel,  the  iiiin- 
Monumenl,  and 
n    the    river   to 


382 


I'lCTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Wc  might  be  Inivolling  through  sonic  hioiul  river  of  France,  so  tiiorouglily  French 
are  the  names  of  the  villages.  On  one  bank  arc  L'.Vssomption,  St.  Sulpice,  La  \'iure, 
Berthier,  Fond  du  Lac,  and  Batiscon  ;  on  the  other,  Becancour,  Gentilly,  St.  Pierre,  Dc- 
chelions,  and  Lothinicr.  But  the  peoj)le  of  these  villages  are  neither  European  nor 
American  in  language,  manners,  or  aj)i)carance.  Descended  from  the  old  French  settlers, 
crossed  with  the  Indian  and  American,  they  retain  some  of  the  traits  of  each.  Their 
high  cheek-bones,  aquiline  nose,  and  thin,  compressed  lips, 
refer  us  to  the  aboriginal ;  but  they  are  below  the  average 
height,   while   stouter  and    stronger,   and    less 

graceful,  than    the    French.      They   are    singu-  "^fe^i^fili    ,  31^ 

larly  hardy,  and  therein  resemble  the  i)rimitive 


^^ffir  > 


Aniericans, 
enduring  the  worst 
extremes  of  heat  and  rold 
•  without  show  of  discomfort.  In 
their  dress  and  houses  they  follow  the  lash- 
ions  of  the  peasants  of  Normandy.  Tlic 
poorer  of  them  build  of  logs,  and  (he  wealthier  <>l 
stone.  Their  houses  are  alike  one -storied,  lnw- 
roofed,  and  whitewashed.  In  their  lial>its  they  arc 
notably  clean  and  thrifty,  simjile,  viituous,  and  deeply  religious.  A  traveller  once  declared 
them  to  be  "the  most  contented,  mo.st  innocent,  and  most  happy  yeomanry  and  pias- 
antry  of  the  wh(»le  civili/ed  world;"  and  in  that  opinion  all  concur  who  have  had  an 
opportimily  to  observe  them.  A  day  might  be  pleasantly  spi'nt  with  them,  but  iho 
steamer  hastens  us  on  to  Oiicbee.  and  leaves  the  spires  of  their  little  eluirehes  golden  in 
the  sunset  sky. 


Durham   Terrace,   Quelwc. 


THE    ST.    LAWRENCE    AND    THE    S AGUE  NAY. 


583 


loioughly  Frciich 
ilpice,  La  \'iltrc, 
,',  St.  Pierre,  Dc- 
;r  European  nor 
1  French  settlers, 
of   each,      'riicir 


Americans, 

mills    tlie    wdrst 

)t'   heat    and    Kild 

discomfort.      in 

V  follow  the  lii^li- 

Normandy.      i  lie 

the  weallhicr  dl 

me -storied,    Inu- 

liahits    thev  art' 

ler  once  declared 

inanry    and   |>eas- 

(»    have    had    an 

tiiem,    l)iit    liic 

lurches  golden  in 


Quebec  ! 
The  historic 
city  of  Cana- 
da ;  the  eilv  of  con(|uests, 
of  military  frlor\ ,  of  he- 
wilderinji  contrasts!  it  is 
yet  early  morning  when  we  arrive  there ;  a 
veil  of  mist  obscures  tiie  more  distant  ob- 
jects. As  we  approach  from  Montreal,  the 
view  obtained  is  not  the  most  impressive.  It  would  lie  In  tier,  we  are  assured,  were  we 
coming  from  down  the  river.  But  who  that  loves  the  ancient,  the  grav,  the  (|iiaint,  is  not 
touched  witii  emotion  on  finding  himself  at  the  portals  of  (he  noble  old  fortress  looking 
(loun  upon  the  ample  watcr-palh  to  the  heart  of  the  contii.  nt  }  Who  is  proof  at  the 
siglit  against  a  little  sentiment  and  a  little  dreaming?  Our  minds  are  fraught  with  mem- 
ories of  the  early  explorers,  of  battles  and  their  heroes,  of  strange   social  conditions  that 


From  the  Top  of  Montmorency  F'alls,  looking  toward  Quebec. 


384 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


■\    i 


have  existed  and  exist  in  the  shadow  of  yon  looming  rock,  whither  our  steamer's  bow  is 
directed.  We  can  look  into  no  epoch  of  its  history  that  is  not  full  of  color  and  inter- 
est. Illustrious  names  are  woven  in  its  pages — Richelieu,  Condd,  Beauharnais,  Mont- 
morency, Laval,  and  Montcalm.  Two  nations  struggled  for  its  possession.  We  see  old 
Jacques  Cartier  ascending  the  river  in  1534,  and  holding  a  conference  with  the  Indians 
then  in  occupation  of  the  site,  which  they  called  Stadacona.  Half  a  century  later, 
Champlain,  the  geographer,  enters  the  scene  at  the  head  of  a  vigorous  colony,  and  builds 
barracks  for  the  soldiers,  and  magazines  for  the  stores  and  provisions.  He  is  not  fairlv 
settled  before  an  English  fleet  speeds  up  tiie  St.  Lawrence,  captures  Quebec,  and  carries 
him  off  a  prisoner  to  England.  Then  a  treaty  of  peace  is  signed,  and  the  city  is 
restored  to  France,  Champlain  resuming  his  place  as  governor  of  the  colony.  Thereafter, 
for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  France  rules  unmolested,  and  the  lily-flag  waves  from  the 
heights  of  the  citadel  ;  but  a  storm  impends,  and  soon  England  shall  add  New  France 
to  her  colonial  empire.  Two  armies  contend  for  the  prize:  Wolfe,  on  the  land  below,  at 
the  head  of  the  English  ;  Montcalm,  on  the  heights  above,  at  the  head  of  the  French. 
With  the  armies  thus  ariayed,  Wolfe  is  at  a  disadvantage,  which  he  determines  to  over- 
come by  strategy.  A  narrow  path  twisting  up  the  precipice  is  discovered,  and,  on  a 
starlight  night,  the  valiant  young  general  leads  his  men  through  the  defile.  The  enemy's 
guard  at  the  summit  is  surprised  and  driven  back  ;  the  English  occupy  the  table-land 
which  they  desired,  and  where  they  can  meet  their  antagonists  on  equal  terms.  On  the 
following  day  the  battle  is  fought  :  Montcalm  advances,  and  covers  the  English  witii  an 
incessant  fire  ;  W^olfe  is  wounded  in  the  wrist,  and  iiastens  from  rank  to  rank  cxhortinsi: 
his  men  to  be  steady  and  to  reserve  their  shots.  At  last  the  French  are  within  forty 
yards  of  them,  and  a  deadly  volley  belches  forth.  Tiie  enemy  staggers,  endeavors  to 
press  on,  and  falls  under  the  iurious  attack  that  opposes.  Wolfe  is  wounded  twice  more, 
the  last  time  mortally,  but  his  army  is  victorious ;  and,  as  he  sinks  froin  his  hor.se,  tiic 
I-'rench  are  retreating,  and  Montcalm,  too,  is  mortally  wounded. 

Who,  approaching  Quebec  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  is  not  for  a  moment  thus 
lost  in  reverie  over  its  past,  and,  on  entering  the  city,  is  not  charmed  with  the  sliarp 
contrasts  the  peojjle  and  their  buildings  afford  ?  Some  one  has  described  Quebec  as 
resembling  an  ancient  Norman  fortress  of  two  centuries  ago,  that  had  been  encased  in 
amber  and  transported  i)y  magic  to  Canada,  and  placed  on  the  summit  of  Cai)e  Dia- 
mond. But,  while  there  are  streets  which  might  have  been  brought,  ready  built,  from 
quaint  old  towns  in  provincial  France,  the  outskirts  of  the  city  arc  such  as  Americans 
alone  can  create.  At  one  point  we  may  easily  fancy  ourselves  in  Boulogne  ;  a  few  steps 
farther,  and  a  crooked  lane  in  London  is  recalled  to  us  ;  farther  still,  and  we  are  in  a 
narrow  Roman  street;  and,  across  the  way,  in  a  handsome  the  rough  fare,  we  find  some 
of  the  characteristics  of  New  York.  So,  too,  it  is  with  the  inhabitants,  though  the 
variety  is  not  as  extensive.     Half  the  people  have   manners   and   customs   of  the  I'rcnch, 


r  steamer's  bow  is 
)f  color  and  inter- 
eauharnais,  Mont- 
ion.     We  see  old 

with  the  Indians 
a  century  later, 
colony,  and  builds 
He  is  not  fairiv 
uebec,  and  carries 
1,  and  the  city  is 
lony.  Thereafter, 
waves  from  the 
add  New  France 
lie  land  below,  at 
i  of  the  French, 
termines  to  over- 
)vered,  and,  on  a 
le.  The  enemy's 
py  the  table-land 

terms.      On  the 

English  with  an 
)  rank  exhorting 

are  within  forty 
•rs,  endeavors  to 
ided  twice  more, 
m  his  hor.sc,  the 

a  moment  thus 
with  the  sharp 
ribed  Quebec  as 
been  encased  in 
t  of  Cape  Dia- 
eady  built,  imm 
h  as  Americans 
ne  ;  a  few  stcjis 
nd  we  are  in  a 
!,  we  find  some 
Its,  though  the 
of  the  F'rench, 


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386 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


the  otlicr  half  arc  equally  Enjjlish.  Vou  hear  French  spoken  as  frequently  as  English, 
but  it  is  I'rench  of  such  a  fashion  as  Parisians  sometimes  confess  themselves  at  :i  los< 
to  understand. 

The  Montreal  steamer,  after  |>assin<r  Wolfe's  Cove  and  Caj^e  Diamond,  keeping;  tiiu 
city  well  out  of  view,  lands  us  at  an  old  wharf  a  few  yards  above  the  Champlain  Mar- 
ket, where  we  get  our  first  glimpse  at  Ouebec.  At  our  back  is  the  placid  river,  wiih  a 
crowd  of  row-boats  and  sloops  and  schooners  drifting  easily  in  the  stilly  morning  air ;  to 
the  right  is  the  Market-Hall,  a  pleasing  building  of  important  si'^c,  with  several  rows  of 
broad  stairs  running  from  its  jjortals  to  ihe  water's  edge  ;  behind  it  are  the  dormci-wiii- 
dowe*!,  slated  and  tinned  roofs  of  the  lower  town;  behind  these,  again,  on  the  heights,  tlu' 
gray  ramparts,  Durham  Terrace,  resting  on  the  buttress  arches  of  the  old  castle  of  St.  Louis, 
the  foliage  of  the  Government  Garden,  'and  the  obelisk  erected  to  Wolfe  and  .Mont- 
calm. Looking  to  the  left  is  the  citadel,  fair  enough,  and  smiling,  not  frowning,  on  this 
summer's  morning,  with  the  ('nitm  Jack  folded  calmly  around  the  prominent  ll.iii-stafl. 
Which  of  all  these  "objects  of  interest"  shall  we  "do"  first.'*  We  debate  the  (luestion, 
antl  start  out  undeeiucd.  Once  u|)()n  a  time,  when  Ouebec  was  a  garrisoned  town,  ihc 
English  red-^oats  ga\  •  the  streets  a  military  aspect;  anu,  as  we  roam  about,  forgetting 
that  thev  have  been  recalled,  we  are  surprised  to  lind  so  few  soldiers.  The  niilitarv 
wf)rks  are  .'glected,  and  have  not  kept  pace  with  time.  We  ramble  among  the  turtifi- 
eations ;  here  and  there  is  a  rustv,  tlisplaeed  eannt)n ;  a  crumbling,  moss-coveri'd  wall. 
The  citadel  itself,  so  proudlv  stationed,  is  lonely,  (|uiet,  drowsy,  with  no  martial  splendor 
about  it.  One  can  fancy  that  the  citizens  themselves  might  forget  it,  but  for  the  noon 
and  curfew  gun  that  thunders  oiu  the  time  twice  a  day.  The  garrison  is  composed  of 
volunteers;  no  more  do  we  see  the  magnificently-trained  I  lighlauvlers,  in  their  fancv 
uniform.  We  are  also  surprised,  but  not  displeased,  at  the  sleepy  atmosphere  that  |itr- 
vades  all ;  for  we  have  been  told  that  the  I'reneh  Canadians  are  especially  fond  of  fetes 
and  holidays,  shows  and  processions.  They  might  be  anchorites,  for  all  \vc  see  of  their 
gayety  ;  possibly  they  have  not  yet  arisen  after  the  carouse  of  last  night.  There  is 
a  general  air  of  (piift  that  b'dongs  to  a  remote  spot  apart  from  tiie  interests  and 
cares  of  the  nutside  world  —a  dreamy  languor  that  a  f-avellcr  is  apt  to  declare  abMiil  in 
Ihe  smallest  of  the  I'nited  States  cities.  lie  himself  is  as  much  a  stranger  here  ;is  in 
London,  and  those  around  him  perceive  his  strangeness.  We  liad  not  walked  far,  licfort 
even  a  pert  little  shoeblack's  ine.xperiencetl  eyes  detected  us  as  aliens.  "  I  le'  yar,  sir; 
reg'lar  Noo-'ork  s-s-sliine ! "  Down  ii'  the  lower  town  a  great  llert  of  vessels  an  ,ii 
moorings,  and  the  wharves  are  crowded  with  men  and  vehicles;  but  the  traffic  niaki-^ 
astnnishinglv  little  noisi'— perhaps  because  it  is  done  with  old-countrv  method,  and  with- 
t)Ut  the  impetuosity  that   New-\'ork  people  thron-  into  all  their  work. 

In  Ilreakneck  Stairs,  which  every  tourist  religiously  visits,  we  have  one  of  tliosr 
alleys  that  aie  often  seen   in  the   old    towns   of   ICnglanci  and   l*' ranee — a  passage,  scared) 


THE    ST.    LAWRENCE    AND    THE    SAGUENAY. 


387 


icntly  as  Enjjlish 
:mselves  at  a  los- 

Gild,  keepino   tin 

Chaniplain  Mar 

acid  river,  witii  a 

'  morning  aii  ;  t( 

I  several  rows  of 
.'  the  dornHT-wiii- 

II  the  iieitrhts,  tlii 
:astle  of"  St.  I.ouiv 
I'olfe  and  Mom- 
frowning,  on  thi^ 

■ominent  lla<r-stalt. 

hate  the  c]uestion, 

risoned  town,  tlu 

al)out,  forgrttinf; 

rs.     Thi-    iniliiarv 

miong  the   fortiti- 

noss-covered  wall 

martial    s|ilinil('! 

hut   for  the  ikkui 

1   is  composed  nl 

s,    in    theii    l.mn 

osphere  lli;it  pii- 

dly  fond  of  fcta. 

we  see  of  tluii 

night.      There  is 

le    interests   and 

declare  ahsent  in 

ranger  here  as  in 

valked  far,  hefoii 

"  lie'  yar,  <\\ 

f   vessels   au    ,11 

(he  Irailie    m.ikt 

lethod,  and  willi- 

ve   one   of  thoM 
passage,  scarcch 


I  ttili-t     trinity    KiK'k,    .'laguvniiy. 

fiftct  n  feet  wiile,  lietween  two  rows  of  leaning  honses,  the  road-hed  consisting  of  several 
Miccessivc  (lights  of  stairs.  Hoot  and  shoe  makers  ahound  here,  and  their  old-fashiomd 
Mgns  sometimes  a  golden  Imk)! — adorn  their  still  more  old-fashioned  stores.  The  occu- 
pants are  idly  gossiping  at  their  doors;  plainly  enough  they  are  not  overworked.  Yon- 
der are  two  priests  ;   hen*  some   tourists.      These  aic    '  I    the   sights  we   see  at   Ureakneek 


■M 


""^^QBasm 


388 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Stairs.  In  the  evening,  Durham  Terrace  offers  a  telling  contrast  to  the  more  sombre 
quarters  of  the  city.  It  is  one  of  the  finest  promenades  in  the  world  ;  adjoining  arc  the 
Government  Gardens ;  hum  the  railing  that  surrounds  it,  the  view  down  the  river  is 
enchanting.  Seen  from  the  elevation  of  the  terrace,  the  lower  town,  with  its  tinned 
roofs,  seems  to  be  under  a  veil  of  gold.  It  is  here,  on  this  lofty  esplanade,  that  Quebec 
airs  itself ;  and,  at  twilight,  throngs  of  jjeoplo  lounge  on  benches  near  the  mouths  of 
beetling  cannon,  and  roam  among  the  fountains  and  shrubbery  of  the  Place  d'Arnies, 
Such  dressiness,  fashion,  and  liveliness  appear,  that  we  are  almost  induced  to  withdraw 
our  jirevious  statement  about  the  quiet  character  of  the  city,  and  to  believe  that  it  uallv 
i;  very  ga\  and  very  wicked.  But,  .  =■  the  darkness  falls,  the  crowd  begins  to  dis|)erse: 
and,  when  the  nine-o'clock  guii  sends  a  good-night  to  the  oj)f)osite  shore,  nearly  all  the 
promenaders  have  gone  home  to  bed,  with   Puritan  pimctuality. 

On  the  next  day  we  go  to  Montmorency.  We  hire  a  calash,  and  pay  the  driver 
three  dollars  for  taking  us  there  and  back,  a  round  distance  of  ?  xleen  miles.  1  tu 
calash  is  used  in  summer  only.  It  is  some 'I  ng  like  a  spoon  on  wheels,  the  pa'.senger 
sitting  in  the  bow'  and  the  driver  at  the  point.  We  jolt  across  the  Si.  Charles  Rivet 
by  the  Dorchester  Bridge,  and  then  enter  a  macadamized  road  leading  through  a  \(ii 
pretty  eountry,  filled  with  well-to-do  residences.  I'arther  away,  we  pass  the  Can;, 
dian  village  of  Ik-auport,  and  get  an  insight  of  old  colonial  life.  The  houses  are  sueli  as 
we  leferred  to  in  C(>niing  froni  ASontreal  to  Quebec  -all  alike  in  size,  form,  and  feature 
T'leuie  u'e  follow  an  luiglish  lane  through  swee-t-'>cente'd  meadows  until  we  arrive  at  ilu 
falls,  ;>.nd,  alter  paving  a  small  fee,  we  are  auiuitted  to  some  grounds  where,  from  a 
perch  :\t  the  verv  ed:/.'  of  the  r;ick,  we  can  le)ok  upon  the  lleeey  cataract  as  it  pours  its 
volume  into  the  river.  It  is  the  grandest  sight  we  have  }  et  seen  in  the  Canadian  tour 
Hereabout  thi'  banks  are  precipitous  two  hmidred  and  fifty  feet  high — and  covered  with 
luxuriant  verdure  ;  the  falls  are  deep-set  in  a  snuil  bay  or  chasm,  and  descend  in  ,1 
sheet,  twenty-five  yards  wide,  broken  midway  by  an  immense  rock  hidden  beni'ath  the 
si'elhing  foam,  'the  sunounding  forms  are  pictures(]ue  in  the  extreme.  In  winter,  the 
guide-book  telN  us,  the  foam  rising  from  the  falls  freezes  into  two  cones  of  solid  ice 
which  sometimes  attain  a  height  of  one  hundred  feet,  and  the  people  come  from  Oiieliec 
in  large  numbers  with  their  "  toboggin';"  — a  sort  of  sKIgh  or  sled,  as  those  familiar  with 
Canadian  sports  will  not  need  to  be  informed — with  which  they  toil  to  the  summit  of 
the  cone,  an('.  thence  descetui  with  astt)nisliing  velocitv.  Men,  women,  and  children, 
share  in  the  exciting  exercise,  ilalf  a  mile  above  the  falls  we  visit  the  Natural  ."^tepv 
where  the  limestone-rock  bordering  on  the  river  has  l)een  hewn  by  Nature  into  Hveral 
successive  flights  of  steps,  all  remarkably  regular  in  form  ;  and,  in  the  evening,  we  are 
ret  inning  to  Ouebec,  which,  as  it  is  seen  from  the  Beauport  road,  strikes  one  as  the 
most  beautiful  city  on  the  continent. 

In  the  morning  wc  arc   fm   board   the    Sagiicnay    boat,  among  as  varied  n  crowd  as 


the  more  sombre 
adjoining  arc  thi 
;i\vn    the   river  i^ 
,  with    its  tinned 
lade,  that  Outbcc 
r  the   mouths  ot 
le  Place  d'Armcv 
jced   to  withdraw 
ieve  that  il  nail 
jgins  to   disburse 
jre,  nearly  all  tli 

id  pay  the   driver 
teen    miles.      I  i 
■els,  the  passenger 
St.  ("harks   Kivn 
g  through   .1   wn 
s   pass   the    Can,, 
nouses  are  siitli  as 
form,  and  featun 
1  we  arrive    il  ilu 
ids  where,  troni   i 
act  as  it  pour^ 
he  Canadian  loin 
-and  covered  witli 
and    descend   in  i 
idden    beneath  the 
L'.      In  winter,  the 
ones    of  solid  iee 
onie  from  Oiiciia 
hose  familiar  with 
to  the  sumniil   ol 
ten,    and    clnhinn 
he   Natural  Slep^ 
«alure  into  ^rMral 
e  evenip':,  we  arc 
trikes   one  as  the 

v.uied  a  crowd  as 


!M'' 


390 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


might  he  formed  hy  the  comminfrhiifr  of  the  cabin  and  steerage  passengers  of  an  America- 
bound  ocean-steamer.  Yonder  are  the  people  who  have  come  from  New  \'ork  witii  us, 
and  have  shared  all  our  joys  and  sorrows  ;  here  are  some  recent  colonists  bound  on  a 
" 'oliday  'outin';"  there  is  a  group  of  half-breeds,  in  richly-colored  dresses;  and  everv- 
where,  in  the  cabins  and  on  deck,  are  people  from  Montreal  and  Quebec,  who  are  goinir 
to  'Salt-water."  .\t  first  we  imagine  that  "  Salt-wr'.er "  is  the  name  of  a  landing,  and 
we  look  for  it  in  vain  in  the  time-tables ;  but  i)resently  a  light  is  thrown  upon  our 
ignorance.  Salt-water  means  Murray  Bay  and  Cacouna,  where  the  Canadians  go  for  their 
sea-bathing,  which  they  cannot  have  at  Quebec,  as  the  water  there  is  fresh.  VVc  .ne 
delayed  for  half  an  hour  waiting  for  the  Montreal  boat  ;  but,  as  soon  as  she  arrives,  ami 
transfers  a  few  e.xtra  passengers  to  us,  we  start  out  into  the  stream.  For  nearly  an  hour 
we  retrace  by  water  the  trip  we  made  yesterday  by  land,  and  are  soon  abreast  of  tiie 
Montmorency  I-'alls,  which  are  .seen  to  still  better  advantage  than  on  the  day  before. 
Afar  off,  the  stately  range  of  the  Laurentian  Hills  roll  upward  in  a  delicate  haze;  and, 
through  the  trees  on  the  summit  of  the  bank,  the  river  Montmorency  shimmers  in  per- 
fect calm,  with  something  like  the  placid  resignation  of  a  brave  soul  conscious  of  an 
ap|)ioaching  death.  The  stream  is  divided  here  by  the  island  of  Orleans,  a  low-lving 
reach  of  faun-land,  .vith  groves  of  pine  and  oak  embowering  romantic  little  farm-houses 
and  cottages,  such  as  lovers  dream  of.  But,  as  we  journey  on,  this  exquisite;  picture 
passes  out  of  view,  and  the  river  widens,  and  the  banks  ^re  nothing  more  than  indistinct 
blue  lines,  marking  the  Ijoundary  of  the  lonely  waters.  Few  vessels  of  any  kind  meet 
us — occasionally  a  tlat-bo.lomed  scow,  with  a  single  sail,  so  brown  and  ragged  that  the 
wind  will  not  touch  it  ;  or  a  sister-boat  to  ours  ;  and  once  we  meet  one  of  the  Allen- 
line  steamers  coming  in  from  the  occn,  passengers  swarming  on  her  decks  from  bow- 
s[>rit  to  wheel-house.  VVe  yawn,  and  read  novels,  and  gossip,  until  the  afternoon  is  far 
advanced,  and  Murray  Bay  is  reached  About  the  little  landing-place  some  of  the  evidences 
of  fashionable  civilization  are  noticeable,  and,  in  the  background,  is  a  verandaed  hotel  of 
the  period.  But  the  land  around  is  wild  ;  and,  not  far  away,  are  the  birch-bark  huts  of 
an  Indian  tribe.  The  sentiment  of  the  scene  is  depressing,  and,  as  our  steamer  paddles 
off,  we  cannot  hel])  thinking  with  Mr.  Howells  that  the  sojourners  who  lounge  idly 
about  the  landing-place  are  ready  to  cry  because  the  boat  is  going  away  to  leave  them 
in  their  loneliness.  At  Cacouna,  more  fashionable  people  are  waiting  for  the  steamer, 
the  arrival  of  which  is  the  event  of  the  nay  ;  l)ut  thtir  gayety  and  chatter  also  seem 
unnatural,  and  they  excite  our  sympathies  much  in  the  same  manner  as  do  the  youni; 
man  and  woman  standing  alone  on  the  PIvniouth  beach  in  Broughton's  "  Return  of  th- 
MayHowcr."  1  he  sui,  has  set  before  our  steamf^r  crosses  the  St.  l^awrcnce  toward  the 
mouth  of  the  Saguenay,  and  black  clouds  are  lowering  in  the  sky  as  we  glide  to  the 
landii.g  at  Tadoussac.     "i'his  also  is  selected  as  ■>    "•^-ripg-olacc  by  some  Canadians;  l)ut 


the    hotel    is    overcast  hy  -.Ider  log-cabins, 


•.dnus;>.i^  '•     .ill  the  "  remot(\  unfriended 


ift 


f  an  Amcrii  ;>- 
I'ork  witli  us, 
hound   on   a 
s  ;   and  cvciv- 
v'ho  are  goinjj 
landing,  and 
,vn    upon    our 
s  go  for  tlitir 
resh.     VVc  aw 
le  arrives,  and 
learly  an  hour 
ibreast   of  the 
ic    day    before, 
ate  haze ;  and, 
mmers  in  pir- 
mscious   of  ;\n 
IS,  a    low-lyiuji; 
le  farm-houses 
ijuisite    picture 
than  indistinct 
ny  kind   nu';t 
gged   that   tlic 
of   the  AUen- 
;ks  from  how- 
ernoon   is   far 
the  eviilences 
laed  hotel  of 
-liark  huts  of 
anier   |)addKs 
lounge    idlv 
to  leave  them 
)r  the  steanur, 
11    also   seem 
lo  the  younj,' 
Kiturn  of  th 
•e  toward    lltf 
ojide  to   the 
anadians;   I  tut 
tc,  unfriended 


T///£    ST.    LAWRENCE    AND    THE    SAGUENAY. 


391 


melancholy,  slow  station"  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  that  it  was  a  hundred  years 
a<ro.  The  captain  grants  his  passengers  two  or  three  hours  ashore,  and  the  opportunity 
is  taken  by  most  of  us  to  visit  the  oldest  church  in  America  north  of  I'lorida,  which 
Tadoussac  contains  among  its  other  curiosities.  It  is  a  frame  building,  on  a  high,  allu- 
vial hank,  and  the  interior,  as  wc  see  it  lighted  by  one  small  taper,  appears  scarcely 
more  than  thirty  feet  square  A  handsome  altar  is  placed  in  an  octagon  alcove  in  the 
rear,  with  altar-pieces  symbolizing  the  ciuciiixion ;  and  tiie  walls  are  adorned  with  two 
pictures,  one  a  scriptural  scene,  the  other  a  portrait  of  the  fust  j)riest  who  visited 
Canada.     We   are    interrupted    in    our   stroll    by    the   steamer's    bell    summoning   us  back. 


Si.   Louis    island,    from    West    Hank   of  Saguenay. 

The  storm-clouds  are  drifting  thickly  across  ttie  night-sky  ;  the  moon  itattles  with  them 
for  an  ojiening.  Gusts  of  wind  sweep  through  the  firs.  The  sea  has  grown  tumultuous 
in  our  absence,  and,  in  the  increasing  darkness,  we  can  discern  the  billows  breaking  into 
a  curling  fringe  of  white.  Tiie  steamer  starts  out  from  the  jetty,  and  has  not  proceeded 
many  yards  before  the  tempest  beats  down  upon  her  with  all  its  foive.  'Ihe  moon  is 
Kist  lulnnd  the  banks  of  cloud;  heavy  drops  patter  on  Ihi  deck.  In  a  storm  of  wind 
aiul  rain,  the  elements  in  fiercest  strife,  we  enter  the  dark,  lone  river,  as  into  u  mysterious 
land. 

It    is   not   suri»rising   that   the    Sagncnny,  with    its    massive.  (!es<»l«te   scenery,  should 


! 

*  ''■         ;  ■  *, 


392 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


the  Mouth  of  tho  Saguenay. 

hiui-  inspired  e;uly  iiiaiintrs  with 
terror.  To  them  it  was  a  livcr 
with  marvellous  surroundings,  with 
an  unnavijjable  current,  immeiisur- 
able  depths,  terrible  !""^i  ancs,  in- 
accessible and  danjieroiis  rocUs,  de- 
structive eddies  and  whirlpools;  but,  in  later  days,  treasures  were  discovered  in  its 
bounds,  ami  it  was  freciuent.-d  bv  vessels  kn  search  of  the  walrus  and  the  whale. 
The  old  sui)erstitions  are  no  lontrer  entertained  ;  but  the  river  is  undisturbed  the 
walrus  and  the  whale  have  l>een  driven  away,  and  luml»er-rafts,  coming  down  fioir, 
the  wilderness,  are  all  that  usually  stir  it.  The  Indians  called  it  Pitchitanichet/.  the 
meaninjr  of  which,  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn,  we  could  not  discovei.  It  is 
formed  by  the  junction  ot  two  outkts  «>{  St.  John's  L.ake,  which  lies  in  the  wildriness, 
one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  northwest  of  Tadoussac,  and  . uvers  five  hundred  square 
miles  of  surftice.  From  some  distant  l»elow  the  lake  the  rivci  pass*  s  over  cliffs  in  »'v- 
eral  m.ijfnificent  cascades,  rushinjj  between  r<»cky  banks  from  two  hundred  to  one  tlum- 
siuid  feef  high  ;  and,  for  a  distance  of  ^ixty  mih^s  fror;i  the  mouth,  it  is  about  one  mt!e 
wide.  In  some  parts,  s^M^ndinys  cannot  be  found  with  three  hundred  and  thirty  fathoms 
and,  at  all  poml>,  thi  w.iter  is  exceedingly  deej),  presenting  an  inky-black  ti^*'*<^ 
Fish  may  be   eaught  i:i  great  abundance,  including  salmon,  Irout,  sturgeon,  and  pu  k' rH 


THE    ST.    LAWRENCE    AND    THE    SAGUENAY. 


393 


S5:'. 


=*", 
^«^ 


th  of  the  Saguen.nv. 

V    iiiariners   with 

it   was    a    livi- 

LirroundinRS,  with 

irrent,    itnmi;isiir- 

p     l>..rri  ,;iIH'S,   ill- 

jreroiis   rocks,  lic- 
discovfu-d    in    its 
ami    the    wluilr. 
iiuiistuibed      the 
iiijU'    down    Iroiii 
itchitanichet/,  tin 
t    discover.     It  is 
II    the   \vild«nu'ss, 
e    liuiidred  viiKirf 
over  cliffs  iii 
Ircd  to  one  tlmii- 
is  about  one  mik 
1(1  thirty  fathoms 
-black    *f»j*fa"rtce 
( 111    and  fj«  V'  "-I 


11 


During  the  night  of  storm,  the  steamer  has  threaded  her  way  through  the  hills,  and, 
on  a  glorious  morning,  we  arrive  at  a  little  village  in  Ha-ha  Bay,  the  nominal  head  of 
iiavi'nition.  The  scenery  is  less  massive  and  sullen  here  than  at  any  other  point,  and 
the  character  of  the  crowd  at  the  landing  is  diversified  in  the  extreme.  There  are  lum- 
hornnii,  Scotch  Highlanders,  liabitants,  American  tourists,  Canadian  tourists,  English  tour- 
ists, and  aboriginals.  Some  of  the  habitants  have  brought  with  them  little  canoes,  filled 
with  wild-strawberries,  which  they  offer  for  sale  ;  and,  during  our  detention  here,  there  is 
considerable  bustle.  We  then  resume  our  journey  down  the  dark  river.  Ila-ha  Bay, 
with  its  shrubbery  and  beaches,  is  soon  out  of  sight  ;  we  are  sailing  between  two  tower- 
ing walls  of  rock,  so  dreary,  so  desolate,  that  those  of  us  who  are  impressionable  become 
licjcctcd  and  nervous.  The  river  has  no  windings  ;  few  i»rojecting  bluffs ;  no  fiirms  or 
villages  on  its  banks.  Nature  has  formed  it  in  her  sternest  mood,  lavishing  scarcely  one 
irracc  on  her  monstrous  offspring.  Wherever  a  promontory  juts  out  one  side  of  the 
liver,  a  corresponding  indentation    is    found    upon    the  opjiosite  shore  ;   and  this  has  been 

naiii-  the  basils  of  a  theory  that  the  chasm  through  which  the  black  waters  flow  was 
iorniL'd  by  an  earthquake's  separation  of  a  solid  mountain.  We  are  willing  to  believe 
.ilniost  any  thing  about  its  origin  ;   it    fills    us    with    grief,  and   our  little  bride  is  actually 

ning  over  it.  The  forms  are  rude,  awkward,  gigantic  ;  but,  like  giants,  unable  to  carry 
themselves.  There  are  no  grassy  meadows;  little  greeneiy  of  any  kind,  in  fact;  only  some 
(Iwarled  red-pines  li\ing  a  poor  life  among  the  rocks.  It  is  a  river  of  gloom,  marked  with 
lirimitive  desolation.  Occasionally  an  island  lies  in  our  path,  i)ut  it  is  as  rugged  and  bar- 
len  a'-  the  shore,  formed  out  of  primitive  granite,  offering  no  relief  to  the  terrible  monot- 
onv  that  mpresses  us.  And,  once  in  a  while,  a  ra\inc  breaks  tiie  precipitous  walls,  and 
ixposes  iti  its  darkling  Ivillow  the  white  foam  of  a  mountain-torrent.  Near  such  a 
place  we  find  a  saw-mill,  and  some  attem|)t  at  a  settlement  that  has  failed  tlismally. 
We  think  of  passages  in   Dante  :  of— 

"  The  dismal  sliore  thai  nil  the  woes 
Hems  in  of  all  the  untV'  rsc." 

The  water  is  skimmed  by  no  liirds,  nor  is  there  a  sound  of  busy  animal  life.  (Jnly  now 
and  then  a  black  seal  tosses  its  head  above  the  surface.  <>r  dives  below  at  our  apptoa  ., 
(irmi  some  projection  where  he  has  been  (piietly  sunning  himself  Masses  of  perpendicu- 
lar rock  rise  above  the  surface  to  an  unbroken  height  of  over  one  thousand  feel,  and 
txirnd  still  farther  below.  What  wonder  that  the  sensitive  little  woman  is  in  iiar-  over 
the  awful  jjloom  Nature  exhibits?  Of  course,  there  are  some  of  our  fellow-tourists  who 
rtrr  not  impressed  with  any  thing  except  the  immensity  ol  the  spaces,  but  it  is  reserved 
for  lur  finer  senws  to  I* ar  Nature's  voice  in  the  savage  tones  of  thi  -\>cks,  and  to  wctp 
at  Tts  sternness. 

Presently  wc    near    Trinity   Rock    and    Cape  F.tem'  1  or.e  of  th*   crew  brings  a 

1*1 


394 


PICTURESOUli    AMERICA. 


bucket  of  pebbles  on  to  ibe  fonvaid  deck.  As  these  two  capes  are  accounted  anion" 
(lie  tiianilest  siyltts  of  the  voyage,  there  is  a  Ikitter  of  anticipation  amon<r  the  passenircrs, 
and  tlie  decks  are  crowded  a<rain.  A  sHi^lit  curve  brin;,,;  us  into  Trinity  Bay,  a  siini- 
eircular  estuar\-,  Hanked  at  tiie  entrance  by  two  precipices,  eacli  rising,  ahiiost  periiendicu- 
iarl\-,  eiiiiiteen  hundred  feet  above  the  river.  'I'he  steepest  is  Trinity,  so  called  because 
of  I  he  three  dislinet  ])eaks  on  its  northern  summit,  and  that  on  tiie  other  side  is  ('a|)c 
I<lternity.  Irinity  presenis  a  face  of  fractured  tiranite,  which  appears  almost  whiti  in 
contrast  to  the  sombre  pine-clad  front  of  lUernity.  And  now,  as  the  lioat  seems  1(j  be 
within  a  U-w  yards  of  them,  the  passengers  are  invited  to  see  if  they  can  strike  ilicm 
with  the  pebbles  before  introduced.  Several  efforts  aie  made,  but  the  stones  fall  short 
of  tluir  mark,  in  the  water.  For  the  rest  of  the  day  we  are  toiling  through  like  wilder- 
nesses of  bowlders,  precipices,  and  mountains.  We  bid  adieu  to  Trinity  and  Eternity  ai 
Point  Noir,  thread  the  desolate  mazes  of  St.  Louis  Island,  and  soon  are  i)assing  i'oiiit 
Crepe,  where  the  loeks,  the  everlasting  rocks,  look  in  the  distance  like  the  channel  (if  a 
driid-ii|)  cataract.  Toward  night  we  are  in  the  St.  Lawrence  again,  and  as  we  s|)ced 
across  (he  brighter  watiis  the  moon  is  rising  o\er  Murray  Hav,  and  the  wreck  of  a 
canoe  ie|)i)sing  on  the  low  beach  reminds  us  of  the  desert  through  which  we  have 
jiassed. 


Miiuiii    Murray    Itay.  Si.  I^iiu rciici'. 


;countcd    among 
V  the  j)asseii;j;L'rs, 
ity   Bay,  a  siiiii- 
iiiost  pcrpundicu- 
;o   called    bciauso 
her  side   is  Ciipi' 
almost   \vhit(    in 
)oat  seems  tn  Iw 
can   strike   ihcm 
stones    fall    slum 
-oiigh  like  wildcr- 
'  and    l-lterniiv  a; 
ire    jiassin^    I'oiiit 
the  channel  of  a 
and   as  we   spcul 
I    the   wreck   nl  a 
I    which    we   iiavc 


THE  EASTERN   SHORE,   FROM   BOSTON  TO   PORTLAND. 

WITH     ILLUSTKAllONS     l!V    J.     l>()i;<;i..\S     WODl  iWAKD. 


'T'lll"  coast  of  New  Enjiland  between  fJos- 
^  ton  and  I'ortland  is  tot  the  most  part 
irrctrniai  and  roikv,  and  in  many  spots  pictn- 
ros(|ue.  N'alnie  seems  to  liave  supplied  it  with 
eveiv  variety  of  sea-coast  aspect  and  heaiit\ ,  Irom 
tln'  jagtred  mass  of  tVownini;  and  ronuii-worn 
rock  overhaiiginin  t^he  waters  to  the  ions;,  smooth 
reach  of  broad,  cnrvinjr  beaches,  and  the  duller  lan(Uca|ie  i4  yreen  nmiass  cMendinii  un- 
broken to  the  water's  edj^e.  There  is  no  coast  on  the  Atlantic  sealinunl  which  |)re^enls  a 
wiij.'i  choice  for  the  lover  of  mariri.  pleasures;  for  the  rich  eitv-nian  and  his  lamiiv  who 
sirk  in  proximity  to  the  ocean  their  summer  recreation  fiom  llu'  cares  and  exeilemeins  ol 
the  \ear;  for  the  artist  searching  to  reproduce  on  canvas  the  visiiile  romance  ol    Nature; 


\- 


396 


PICTURESOUE    AMERICA. 


for  the  gay  campin<i;-oiit  parties  of  students,  of  youths,  and  maidens;  and  for  those  wliosu 
health  is  supposed  to  derive  benefit  from  the  fresh  ocean-breezes,  the  batiiinfrs,  ,iihl  ilie 
pastimes  offered  by  the  salt-water  expanse.  Thus,  liostonians  and  Portlandcrs  ha\o  no 
need  to  go  far  from  home  to  find  delitjhtful  spots  for  the  summer  holidays.  Within  con- 
venient distance  of   either    place    are    sjjots  where    f>alcrfatiiilias    nia\'  deposit    his    fmiilv 


.1  i 


'( 


Swallows*   Cave,    Nahant. 


for  the  summer  in  a  long-porched  hotel,  or  build  for  them  a  cosey,  pictu">sque  coltajic 
(juite  witiiin  daily  access  from  his  business  haunts,  whither  he  may  go  and  repose  ovir- 
night,  and  each  morning  return  invigorated  to  the  labors  of  office  or  countnig-rooni. 

The  picturesqueness  of  the   Eastern  shore  betrays  itself  as  soon  as  you  liave  sleamtd 
away  from  the  Hoston  docks.     Eccentric  and  irregular  peninsulas  of  land,  abruptly  widen- 


THE    EASTERN   SHORE. 


397 


inn  ;intl  narrowing,  now  a  mere  thread  between  water  and  water,  now  a  wide,  hilly  space, 
an-  encountered  at  once.  East  Boston  stands  upon  one  of  these,  and  presents  a  crowded, 
latluT  smoky  aspect,  with  its  many  chimneys,  its  well-filled  docks,  and  its  elevation  at 
the  extreniiiy,  crowned  with  the  quarter  of  jirivate  residences.  The  steamboat  is  forced 
to  make  many  a  curve  and  winding,  and,  sniortly  after  leaving  East  Boston,  passes 
liirougli  a  straitened  channel  between  the  sharp,  narrow  Point  Shirley,  a  mere  needle  of 
a  peninsula,  and  tli  irregularly-shaped  Deer  Island,  with  its  spacious  Almshouse,  sha])e(i 
like  a  Latin  cross,  antl  its  ample  accommodation  for  the  paupers  of  the  neighboring  city. 
As  vou  |)r()eeed  through  the  harbor,  the  eye  catches  sight  of  man\  islands  of  \arious 
limension  and  contour — some  green  with  lawns,  others  bleak  and  arid  with  herbless 
sand  :ni(l  rock ;  here  surmounted  by  a  fort,  there  a  hospital  or  house  of  cornxtion, 
soimtinies  an  hotel  whither  excursions  are  made  in  the  summer  at   ])0|)ular    ])rices.      The 


llic    UUl    I'ort,    Marbleheaii. 

southern  coast  looms  irregular  and  sometimes  imposing  behind,  while  a  glimjise  is  had 
ol  similar  eccentricities  and  rough  beauties  of  Nature  in  the  direction  whither  you  are 
proceeding. 

After  passing  around  Point  Shirley,  the  broad  stretch  of  Chelsea  Beach  comes  into 
viuw,  extending  from  tiie  lower  ])art  of  the  peninsula  to  Lynn  Bar.  This  is  the  favorite 
resort  of  the  K'ss  well-to-do  classes  of  Boston,  while  here  and  there  are  sea-side  resi- 
dences which  betray  the  taste  of  a  wealthier  social  class  for  this  neighborhood.  There 
are  convenient  and  cosev  hostelries,  furnishing  refreshment  to  the  merry-makers,  and 
anijile  provision  for  the  sea-bathing,  which  is  so  refreshing  to  the  deni/en  of  the  busy 
and  dusty  city. 

Beyond  Pine's  Point,  which  is  the  strip  of  land  at  the  northern  end  of  Chelsea 
Meach,  the  sea  makes  one  of  its  abrupt  invasions  into  I  lie  line  of  coast,  and  lias  scooped 


i 


BMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


^^<^ 


23  WIST  MAIN  STUIIT 

^HSTIf.N  Y    14510 

(71«)  •73-4S03 


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^~%    ^^       ///I, 


^  Vl 


398 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


^■^^m 


out  tlicrc  a  miniature  har- 
bor, witli  uneven  coast  hor- 
derings,  called  Lynn  Hai. 
This  is  the  inlet  to  the 
thrifty  "  leather-city,"  whicli 
stands  just  by,  intent  on 
supplying  mankind  with 
shoes.  Lynn  Bar  is  bound- 
ed on  its  eastern  siile  hy 
the  long  and  slightly  cuived 
western  side  of  the  jjeninsu- 
la  of  Nahant.  From  tiiis 
point  of  view,  you  form  no 
concejjlion  of  the  noble  |)ict- 
urescpie  beauties  and  arciii- 
teetural  decorations  which 
this  bold  and  stranj^'ly- 
shaped  ])romontory  affords. 
It  is  only  when  you  Innc 
landed,  and  advanced  to  ;in 
elevated  |)osition,  that  (nic 
of  the  most,  if  not  the  must 
striking  landscape  on  the 
Eastern  j.liorc  presents  itself 
to  tiie  sight. 

Nahant  is  about  eitrlit 
miles  northeast  from  lios- 
lon,  and  is  easily  reached,  in 
less  than  an  hoin-,  from  ihc 
city  by  boat.  Of  all  I  lie 
sea-side  resorts  of  the  vicin- 
ity, it  is  justly  the  inosi 
sought  ;  for  neither  Cohas- 
set,  Nanlasket,  nor  Scitn- 
ate,  on  the  southern  sIkhc, 
can  comiuire  with  it,  i^ 
combining  each  seveial  va- 
riety of  marine  scenery  and 
pleasure     u'lvantagcs.      The 


THE    EASTERN   SHORE. 


399 


peninsula,  as  it  stretches  out  from  the  main -land,  is  at  first  a  narrow  neck,  crossed 
by  a  few  steps,  for  some  distance  almost  straight.  On  one  side  is  the  pretty  har- 
bor of  Lynn ;  on  the  other  a  noble,  wide  beach,  sweeping  in  a  direct  line  for  some 
distance,  then  curving,  in  a  short  semicircle,  round  the  rocky  cliffs  beyond  which  lies 
tbe  scarcely  less  lovely  and  famous  Swampscott.  This  narrow  neck  begins  anon  to 
thicken  irregularly,  with  here  and  there  a  sudden  eruption  of  rugged  rock,  and  finally 
broadens  into  a  rocky,  uneven  eminence.  This  prumont;)ry  is  shaped  like  a  horse- 
shoe. On  the  two  sides  the  shore  is  rocky,  with  its  Black  Rocks,  West  Cliff,  Castle 
Rock,  Saunders's  Ledge,  Natural  Bridge,  and  so  on;  while  in  the  conve.K  side  of  the 
horseshoe   are   several   exquisite   diminutive    beaches,   lying    below    the  jagged   eminences. 


Norman's    Woe,    Ciloucislcr. 

A  writer,  describing  the  rocky  beauty  of  Nahant.  says:  "The  rocks  are  torn  into  such 
varieties  of  form,  and  the  beaches  arc  so  hard  and  smooth,  that  all  the  beauty  of  wave- 
motion  and  the  whole  gamut  of  ocean-eloquence  are  iier  ■  offered  to  eye  and  ear.  All 
the  loveliness  and  majesty  of  the  ocean  are  displayed  around  the  jagged  and  savage- 
hrowed  cliffs  of  Nahant." 

I'ew  marine  localities,  moreover,  have  been  so  eleganiiy  adorned  by  the  wealth 
which  calls  forth  the  best  efforts  of  the  architectural  art.  Mere  are  noble  sea-side  rcsi- 
(knces — of  granite,  brick,  and  wood  -Swiss  cottages  and  French  villas,  some  shrouded  in 
ivies  and  parasites,  nearly  all  having,  in  spacious  bav-win(U)Ws  and  broad,  sheltered  pia/zas, 
delightful  outlooks  upon  the  ocean.      Nor   has   the   naturally  bleak  and  craggy  peninsula 


^!^^^^^^^^SSm!!!m!SiS!!SSSSS!^Sff!SSWi 


OLOUCESTEH     AND     HOCKPORT. 


^     .     '"%     ,S.j,^ 


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'"""^IMP 


THE    EASTERN  SHORE. 


401 


refusctl   to    nourish    beautiful    lawns   and   gardens,  amply  sprinkled   with    flower- parterres, 
bctniving  the  artistic  care  which  riches  arc  able  to  procure. 

The  artist  has  reproduced  two  of  the  most  striking  of  the  many  natural  wonders 
which  the  eternal  lashing  of  the  waves  has  wrought  out  of  the  obstinate  rock-masses 
about  Nahant.  Pulpit  Rock  lies  just  by  tlie  lower  eastern  shore  of  the  horseshoe,  be- 
tween the  Natural  Bridge  and  Sai^pho's  Rock.  It  is  a  huge,  jagged  mass,  rising  some 
thirty  feet  ai)Ove  the  water,  with  roughly-square  sities,  broail  and  heavy  below,  but  |)r()- 
jectiiig  abruptly  into  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees  at  the  top.  At  a  little  distance,  the 
upper  part  appears  like  a  pulpit,  upon  which  some  Titan  preacher's  Bible  and  prayer- 
book  have  been  laid  ready  for  service — hence  the  name  ;  and  here,  if  one  is  bold  enough 
to  venture  up  the  slippery,  moss-grown  sides,  is  a  famous  eyry,  whence  to  contem])late 
the  sea,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  its  wash  and  roar.  The  Swallows'  Cave  is  faither  on,  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  eastern  curve  of  the  horseshoe,  between  the  steamboat-wharf  and 
Pea  Island.  It  is  a  long,  gloomy  cavern,  overhung  by  a  dome  of  irregular  strata,  heaved 
toficther  in  strange,  shelving  layers.  The  cave  is  eight  feet  high  and  seventy  long,  and 
derives  its  name  froin  its  having  long  been  occupied  by  colonies  of  swallows,. which  built 
their  nests  in  its  sombre  crevices,  and  flew  in  and  out  in  fluttering  multitudes.  But 
the  invasion  of  tiieir  retreat  by  curiosity-seekers  has  expelled  them  thence.  The  cave 
m.iv  be  entered  for  some  distance  by  a  row-boat ;  and  here  is  a  favorite  cool  haunt  in 
the  iiot  summer  days,  when  the  beaches  aie  insufferable.  Nahant  presents  other  wonders, 
but  none  more  striking.  There  are  John's  Peril,  a  great,  yawning  fissure  in  one  of  the 
chffs ;  the  huge,  oval-shaped  mass  called  Kgg  Rock  ;  a  beautiful  natural  structure,  which 
might  almost  be  taken  for  a  savage  fortress,  Castle  Rock,  with  battlements,  embrasures, 
hutti esses,  and  turrets,  the  only  kiinl  of  counterpart  to  the  castle-ruins  which  so  richly 
(leek  European  scenes  that  our  new  America  affords ;  a  boiling  and  seething  Caldron 
Cliff;  a  deep-bass  Roaring  Cavern;  aiul  a  most  grotes(iue  yet  noble  natural  aich,  with 
\  cone-like  top,  and  leading  to  a  natural  room  in  the  rock,  which  is  known  as  Irene's 
("irotto. 

Beyond  the  broad  Long  Beach,  which  sweeps  from  the  ])i()inontory  of  Nahant  in 
almost  a  straight  line  to  Red  Rock,  is  the  not  less  beautiful  and  fashionable  sea-side 
resort  of  Swampscott,  with  its  Dread  Ledge,  and  jiretty  l)eaeli,  and  clusters  of  charming 
and  lavishly-adorned  marine  villas;  while  just  northeastward  of  .Swampscott  juts  out  far 
into  the  sea  the  rude  and  uneven  and  historic  peninsula  of  Marblehead.  This  sjjot 
was  one  of  the  first  settled  in  New  England,  the  town  of  Marblehead  having  been  incor- 
porated by  the  Puritan  colony  just  fifteen  years  after  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims  at 
Plymouth.  So  bleak  and  bare  are  the  Marblehead  rocks  that  Whitefield  asked,  in  won- 
der, "Where  do  they  bury  their  dead?"  It  is  a  quaint  old  settlement,  with  many  (pieer 
houses   slill    standing  which  were    built    and    (ecupied    before    the    Revolution.      The    sea 

penetrates  the  peninsula  with  a  narrow  and  ileep  little  harbor ;  and  it  is  around  this  that 

us 


I  I 

1^  ! 


■r 


l>? 


m 


M 


t  ^    L 


402 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


yj.'  I  ' 


\\ 


\  \ 


the  town  has  clustered.  Once 
on  a  time  Marblehcail  was  fa- 
nious  for  its  tishcrmcn  ;  aiul  ii 
is  the  scene  of  Whittier's  |1(ji-mi, 
"  Ski|)])er  Ireson's  Ride'  \ 
hundred  years  ajr  it  was,  next 
to  Boston,  the  most  Jfro^rtfius 
town  in  Massachusetts.  Xow 
its  character  lias  almost  wholly 
changed  from  the  olden  lime, 
for  it  has  become  a  brisi<  cen- 
tre of  the  shoe  -  manufaclurc. 
The  Old  Fort  is  a  i)lain, 
hoary -looking  edifice,  slaiuiiiit; 
on  the  rugged  slope  ol  tlii 
l)roniontoiy  looking  toward  the 
sea. 

Just  around  the  exticinitv 
of  Marblehead  are  tiie  haihoi 
ami  the  still  more  aiicicni 
I'uritan  settlement  of  Salciii, 
Seven  years  after  the  lamhiisr 
at  Plymouth,  tlie  district  he- 
tween  tiie  "  great  river  called 
Merrimac'  and  the  Ciiarles  was 
set  off  as  a  separate  colony: 
and  the  year  afterward  Knilicoti 
selected  Salem  as  the  ca|iit;il 
of  this  colony.  It  was  called 
Salem,  "  from  the  ]ieace  w  hieh 
they  had  and  hoped  in  it."  01 
all  New  -  luigland  towns,  ii 
bears  most  jilainly  the  Manip 
of  a  vcnerai)le  antitjuity.  Ii  is 
a  grave  and  staid  place,  and 
there  are  still  streets  laiuely 
composed  of  the  stately  man- 
sions of  the  colonial  and  ma- 
rine aristocracy  ;   for  Salem  was 


THE    EASTERN   SHORE. 


403 


clustered.  Once 
irblehead  was  fa- 
slieriiicn  ;  ami  it 
W'hittier's  ywxw. 
ion's  Ride."  A 
ajr  ■  it  was,  next 
_■  most  flnlitDus 
sachusetts.  Now 
las  almost  wholly 

tlu'  olden  tiiiU', 
;ome  a  brisk  ccii- 
lioe  -  manufacluic, 
ort     is     a     plain, 

editicc,  standini; 
ed  slope  ut'  the 
)oking  toward  the 

and  the  extremity 
d    are    the    haiboi 
ill     more     ancient 
emcnt    of    Salem, 
after    the    laiulintr 
,    the    district    be- 
jrreat    river    called 
ul  the  Charles  was 
separate    colony ; 
afterward  Endicott 
ni    as    the    caiiital 
IV.      It  was    called 
1    the    peace  which 
hoped  in  il."    01 
;nj>land     towns,    it 
l)lainly    the    stamp 
le  antiquity.      U  is 
1    staid    idaee,   and 
till    streets     largely 
r   the    stately  man- 
colonial   and  ma- 
icy ;  for  Salem  wa? 


once  not  only  a  metropolis,  hut  a  jiort  teeming  with  loidly  Rast-lndiamen,  and  ware- 
hciuscs  packed  with  the  choicest  fabrics  and  spices  of  tiie  Orient.  It  is,  commercially, 
a  stranded  city,  reposing  upon  its  memories,  and  brimful  of  (piaint  and  striking  tradi- 
tions.     It    has   its   anticjuarian    museums    and    its  historic   buildings,  and   here   is  sacredly 


Point   i)f  C':i[)t*   .-\nn,    fioiii  Cedar   -Vvenue,    I'i^con   C'uvc. 

preserved  the  original  charter  granted  bv  ('haries  I.  to  Massaeinisetts  Hay.  Here,  too, 
is  the  oldest  church  still  standing  \n  New  F.ngland,  erected  in  i6;,4,  and  whose  first 
pastor  was  Roger  Williams.  Salem  was  the  town  of  witches;  and  it  was  on  the  hill 
re]iiesented  by  the  artist,  from  which  a  fine  view  of  the   pieturestjue  and  drowsy  town  is 


\\ 


1:1 


I  i\ 


404 


PICTUR USQUE    AMERICA. 


\^ 


had,  that  tlie  old  women  who  wi'ic 
suspected  of  deahng  in  charms  and 
spells  were  incontinently  hanged  by 
the  grim  old  settlers. 

In  skirting  the  coast,  alter  is- 
suing from  Salem  Ilarhor,  you  al- 
most immediately  reach  the  broad 
and  far-projecting  peninsula  at  the 
end  of  which  is  Cape  Ann,  and 
which  forms  the  northern  lidun- 
dary  of  Massachusetts  Bay.  Included  between  this  and  Scituate,  on  the  south,  is 
the  great,  semicircular  l)asin  which  narrows  inro  the  spacious  harbor  of  Boston.  I  iic 
coast  between  Salem  and  Gloucester  is  studded  with  spots  at  once  naturally  a( trac- 
tive and  historically  interesting.  The  rocky  Lowell's  Island,  a  famous  destination  for 
suminer  excursions,  appears  in  full  view  from  Salem.  Opposite  to  it,  on  the  main- 
land,   is    Beverley    Beach,    with    the    old    town   of    Beverley,   but    a    few   years    younger 


THE    EASTERN   SHORE. 


405 


than  Salem,  in  the  near  backsfiound.  From  one  of  the  promenades  here  a  fine  view  is 
had  of  tiie  sea,  with  its  sprinkling  of  forts  and  islands.  A  little  to  the  north,  inland,  is 
Wciiiuun,  noted  for  a  eharming  lake,  and  the  spot  of  whieh  an  old  iui^dish  traveller 
of  two  centuries  ago  said,  "  Wenhani  is  a  delicious  paradise;"  while  hevond  is  I[)swich, 
with  its  "healthy  hills,"  and  its  ancient  female  seminary,  where  the  Andover  students, 
savs  a  venerable  writer,  "are  wont  to  take  to  themselvjs  wives  of  the  daughters  of  the 
Puritans."  The  quaint  village  of  Manchester  lies  on  the  rugged  shore;  ami,  soon  after 
passing  it,  the  harbor  of  Gloucester  is  entered. 

Ciloucester  is  a  characteristic  New-England  sea-coast  town.  It  is  the  metropolis  of 
the  Northern  fisheries.  Its  harbor  is  one  of  the  most  pictuies(iue  and  attractive  on  the 
coast ;  and  the  town  rises  gradually  from  the  wharves,  presenting  at  once  the  aspect  of 
veiu'nii)le  age  and  of  present  activity.  All  around  it  are  hue  points  of  view  seaward, 
lieaclic's,  and  rocky  cliffs,  with  a  more  generous  share  of  the  relief  of  verdure  than  along 
the  more  southerly  coast.  Interspersed  with  the  residences  of  the  retired  captains  and 
uell-io-do  fishermen,  who  form  a  large  ])ortion  of  the  iiopuiation,  are  line  mansions  used 
as  summer  residences;  for  Gloucester,  as  well  as  its  vicinity,  is  a  favorite  resoit.  Manv 
;iii(l  various  are  the  scenes  in  the  neighborhood,  whieh  curiosity,  wonder,  and  love  of  the 
l)eautiful,  have  sought  out  among  the  rocks  and  inlets.  Of  one  of  these  Longfellow  has 
written  in  "The  Wreck  of  the   Hesperus:" 


t       t 


r         s 


women  who  weiu 
ng  in  charms  ami 
inently  hanged  by 
lers. 

:hc   coast,  after  is- 
1    Harbor,  you  al- 
reach   the    broad 
peninsula   at   tiie 
Cape    Ann,    ami 
northern     boun- 
on    the    south,   is 
of    Boston.      The 
naturally   at  trac- 
ts   destination    for 
it,   on   the   main- 
w    years    younger 


"  And  fast  throiigli  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 
Tliroiigh   the  whistling  slcct  and  snow, 
Lilce  a  sheeted   ghost  the  vessel  swept 
Toward   the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe." 


Norman's  Woe  is,  indeed,  a  drear  and  so'  e  mass  of  rocks,  lying  just  beyond  the 
shriil)-fringed  shore,  where  many  a  vessel  has  struck  against  the  ragged  reefs  in  the 
nortiieast  storins,  though  on  a  calm  summer's  day  it  adds  one  of  tlie  elements  of  a 
heautiful  marine  landscape.  Near  by  are  other  curiosities,  attractive  to  the  sight-seers 
>yho  make  their  head(]u^rters  in  the  vicinity.  Among  them,  i)erha|)s  the  most  notable  is 
Rale's  Chasm,  an  enormous  fissure  in  the  irregular  and  high-piled  ledge,  which  yawns 
into  the  rock  a  hundred  feet,  and  pierces  it  to  a  depth  ot  hfty  feet.  Here  the  impris- 
oned waves  at  times  struggle  with  fierce  and  sonorous  fury,  the  noise  of  their  roar,  heard 
long  before  the  spot  is  reached,  endowing  them,  in  the  fancy,  with  the  reality  of  living 
though  insensate  savagery.  Not  far  off  is  another  marvellous  lissure  in  the  trap-rock; 
and  beyond  is  the  liright  and  cheerful  colony  of  summer  villas  which  have  clustered 
around  Goldsmith's  Point. 

Cape  Ann  is  really  an  island,  being  separated  from  the  main-laml  by  Squam  River 
and  a  canal  called  the  Cut.  Its  general  appearance  is  rugged  and  rocky,  with  granite 
hills  and  ledges,  in  some   places   craggy  and   bald,  in    others   grown    over   with   wild    and 


.(:V      I 


r      ,i- 


,>■"»' ^Bl'li'' 


PORTSMOUTH    ANU    ISLES    OK    3HOAL3. 


'^■ 


THE    EASTERN   SHORE. 


407 


picturesque  forests.  From  Tompson's  Mountain  the  excursionist  obtains  a  superb  view, 
not  only  of  the  sea  and  immediate  coast,  l)ut  of  Massachusetts  Bay  and  Boston,  with 
the  yellow  dome  of  the  State-House  looming  in  the  distance,  on  the  south,  and  Mount 
MciKidnock,  in  New  Hampshire,  in  the  northwest.  Below  may  be  seen  broad  marshes, 
beautified  by  an  abundance  of  magnolias  and  water-lilies,  with  wild,  entangled  dells  and 
wiiuiing  brooks,  orchards  and  meadows,  and  waving  fields  of  grain.  Cape  Ann  is  noted 
for  its  trees  and  flora.  Here  grow  picturesque  tracts  of  wootlla'Ml,  contrasting  pleasantly 
wiili  the  great  gray  rocks  and  the  azure  sea;  there  arc  the  oak,  the  birch,  the  maple,  and 
the  vellow-pine,  red -cedars,  and  the  beautiful  red-gu.-"  tree;  wiiile  the  wealth  of  wild- 
llowers — masses  of  roses  perfuming  the  air  the  tniiling  arbutus,  dog's-tooth  violets,  tender 
wind -flowers,  innocents  and  sassafras,  columbines  and  wake-robins — makes  the  marshy 
tlclds  and  ledgj  -  crevices  glow  with  a  kaleidoscope  of  color  and  exquisite  botanic 
textures. 

Only  less  romantic  than  Nahant  are  the  outermost  shores  of  Cape  Ann,  while  the 
ami'le  foliage  adds  a  L-ature  which  even  tiie  gardening-art  cannot  imjiart  to  the  more 
soutlicrly  resort.  Pigeon  Cove,  especially,  has  in  these  later  days  become  a  noted  water- 
i'.ifT-i)hice ;  for  here  is  not  only  a  noble  view  of  the  waters,  but  the  opportunity  to  enjov 
m.uiv  a  delightful  excursion  amid  the  lovely  scenes  and  marvellous  sculpture  which  Na- 
ture has  provided.  The  li.tle  place  has  been  provided  witli  wide  avenues  and  |iromenades, 
with- groves  of  oak  and  pine,  which  lead  to  striking  landscipe-views — among  them  the 
liicakwater,  which  forms  the  outer  >vall  of  the  snug  little  cove,  and  Singei's  Bluff,  which 
overhangs  the  sea. 

Passing  fiom  the  varied  i)cauties  of  Pigeon  Cove,  with  its  alternate  ruggedness, 
^'li'^tenl.1g  beach,  and  luxuriant  foliage,  the  northern  side  of  Cape  Ann  is  crossed  by  an 
ancient  road,  which  at  times  enters  beneath  an  arching  of  willows,  and  again  emerges  in 
sifrlit  of  the  waves  and  sails.  In  a  short  while  Annisijuam  is  reached,  and  then  the  ven- 
erable sea-side  village  of  Essex,  just  where  the  peninsula  rejoins  the  main-land.  The 
coast  for  a  while  becomes  little  notable  for  any  peculiar  characteristics  of  picturesque- 
ness,  UBtil  the  broad,  bay -like  mouth  of  the  "great"  river  Merrimac  is  a|>pr()ached. 
I'lom  its<  entrance,  the  old,  historic  town  of  Newburyport,  suiinounting  an  abrupt  decliv- 
itv,  !;ome  three  miles  up  the  broad  iind  rapid  river,  is  espied.  Like  Sakni  and  Marble- 
head,  it  is  one  of  those  anticjue  coast-towns  whicii  have,  to  a  huge  degree,  lost  their 
iniiitiine  importance,  while  jiiesi  rving  the  relics  and  mementos  «)f  a  former  commercial 
|ii(isperity.  Few  places  more  abound  with  old  traditions  and  family  historii  .,  and  few 
inspire  more  pride  in  their  annals  and  past  glories  in  the  bieasts  of  the  natives. 

The  shore  betwten  Newburyport  and  Portsmouth  is  almost  continuously  straight  and 
even.  The  abrupt  eccentricities  of  bowlder  and  storm-hewed  loek-masses  have  nearly  dis- 
a|i|>(ared.  Long  and  sunny  beaches  have  taken  the  place  of  ciaggy  peninsulas  and 
vnvning  fissures,  sinuous  inlets  and  shapeless  projections.     Salisbuiy,  Hampton,  and    Rye, 


m 


408 


P/C  TURESO  UE    AMERICA. 


M. 


I  I 


Caswell's    IVak,    Star    Islanil. 

occupying    the    larjiv:'    |iiiiii(in 
of  the  l)iicf  coast  wliicli   New 
Hainpsliire  possesses,  are   loiii; 
stretches    of  sand,    iiiti'is|Krsi(l 
here    ami   there  with    rocks,  hut  |)r'sentin}r  ntlliti 
(111'  softer  ami  more  ciieerfui  than  the  rujr^ed  ;iiiil 
awful    aspi'cls    of    marine    Nature.      Colonics  nf 
cosey  sea-side  cottajres,  and   iarjje   summer   Iih'iN, 
line  the  shores;  and,  in  July  and  Aujjust,  ll,mi|i- 
lon    and    Uve    Heachcs    are    alive   witii    earriav;cs, 
hathers,  and  saunterers  on  tlie  lonj;,  surf-washed  reaches. 

I'oilsmouth,  like  Newburyport,  is  situated  on  a  river-liank,  some  three  miles  linm 
(lie  open  MM,  there  lieinjj  a  spacious  hav  helween  it  and  the  Maine  shore,  with  an  i-l.mil 
direellv  in  its  mouth.  "There  are  more  i|uainl  houses  and  interesting  traditions  in  I'mt^- 
moulli,"  savs  one  writer,  "  (han  in  anv  olher  town  of  New  l-.ngland " — a  propo-^ilinn. 
however,  which  the  townsmen  of   Newlmrypurl   and  Salem  would  eagerlv  dispute.      Ii  \-- 


THE    IIASTILRX    SIlOR.'i. 


409 


indeed,  a  singularly  venerable  and  tnuK|iiil-l()okin^<-  old  phux-,  with  many  irretrular,  diadcd 
streets,  wiiich  look  as  if  they  had  been  (|uietly  slumbering  tor  manv  generations,  its  his- 
tory is  full  of  incident,  and  connected  with  many  of  the  stirri.ig  events  of  colonial  anil 
Revolutionary  days.  Indeed,  I^)rtsmouth  was  settled  as  long  ago  as  1623,  and  was  lirst 
called  "  Strawberry  liank,"  from  the  exceeding  (|uantity  of  strawberries  which  were 
found  growing  in  its  vicinity.  It  was  at  first  fortified  with  palisades,  to  secure  it  from 
Indian  depredations;  and  many  were  the  ]K-rils  through  which  it  |)asse(l  in  the  earlv  davs. 
After  the  Revolution,  a  French  traveller  found  it  with  "a  thin  po|)ulation,  many  houses  in 
ruins,  wom<n  and  children  in  rags,  and  eveiy  thing  announcing  decline."  Hut,  speeililv, 
Portsmouth  revivetl,  and  became  a  Inisy  and  thrifty  i>ort ;  and  so  it  conlinuis  to  this  dav. 
The  chief   natural  attraction   in  the  vicinity  of    Portsmouth    is    the    Isles  of   Siioals,  a 


!■■ 

I     i- 


.■ak,    star    Isl.iml. 

he    larger    ixMtion 

coast  which   New 

lossesses,  are    Ioiiil; 

sai\(l,   interspeised 

presenting  r.illur 

lan  the  rugged  ami 

ure.      Colonies  nf 

pe   sumnier   hu'els 

nd   August,  ll.nnp- 

ive    with    earria.m's, 

thice  miles  Ikmii 
101c,  with  an  i-iaml 
traditions  in  I'"!!- 
1(1"— a  proiHisiiion. 
•ilv  dispute.      It  iv 


ri>rllaiiil,    liiMii    t'cik'^    l-liml. 


t«il 


4IO 


PICTURIiSOUli    A  mi:  RICA. 


\ 


(jroiip  of  fiolit  hare  and  ru<r<ic<l  islamls,  lyiiiy  alioiit  nine  miles  off  llie  coast,  comniiini- 
cati'd  will)  l)v  a  comfortable  little  steamlioal,  and  i)r(i\ided  with  hotels  and  cottajics  for 
summer  visitors.  The  isles  are  small  in  extent,  the  laif>est — .Appledore — only  containiiii; 
alioiit  three  hundred  and  fiftv  acres.  I'mm  the  main-land  they  appear  shadowy,  almost 
fairy-!ii-;i\  in  tluir  dim  outline.  As  the  steamboat  approaciies,  they  sei)arate  into  tlistinct 
elevations  of  rock,  all  having-  a  bleak  and  barren  as|)ect,  with  little  vejietation,  and  haviiii; 
jafjtred  reefs  rumiinii  f'"'  *>^"  in  ''!'  directions  amony  the  waves.  ,\p])ledore,  the  princi|),ii 
island  of  the  <irou|),  rises  in  the  shape  of  a  lioti's  back,  and  is  the  least  irrejj:ular  in 
appearance.  Its  ledti^es  rise  some  seventy-five  feet  abo\e  the  sea,  and  it  is  divided  h\-  a 
nairow,  i)ictures(|iie  little  valle\-,  wherein  are  here  and  there  timid  scraps  of  sluublnrv, 
and  when-  are  situated  the  hotel  and  its  (//a/i/s,  the  onlv  buildinjis  on  the  island.  The 
solitude  and  j^randiau  ol  the  sea  arc  to  be  enjoyed  to  the  iullest  on  these  yaunt  iiil1<s, 
in  whose  interstices  manv  a  lonely  nook  may  be  discovered  where,  fanned  b\-  cdoj 
bree/es  ol'  pure  sea-air,  the  marine  landscape  may  bi-  contemplated  amid  a  surrouiiilinn 
stillness  broken  onh  bv  tlu'  lash,  murmur,  antl  trieklinir  in  and  out  of  the  waves,  just 
by  .\|)pledort'  is  .Smntt\-\ose  Island,  low.  Hat,  and  insidious,  on  whose  black  reefs  ni;in\ 
a  stalwart  \i'ssel  lias  bicn  torn  to  destruction.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  off  is  the  most 
pictures(iue  of  the  island-cluster.  Star  Island,  with  its  odd  little  village  of  (ios|)orl,  iliu 
ipiaint  toweied  and  steipled  cluirch  of  which  ciowns  the  crest  of  its  hiuhest  point ;  ami 
just  by  is  Scavev's  Island  On  the  west,  toward  the  main-land,  is  Londoner's,  ja^^ed  and 
shapeless,  with  a  diminutive  beach;  while  two  miles  awav  is  the  most  lorliiddinii  ''inl 
(LuiLicrous  of  all  these  islands.  Duck  Island,  many  of  whose  ledsjes  aie  hidden  insidimish 
luaieath  tiie  water  at  iiijih  tide,  and  .it  low  tide  an-  often  seen  covered  with  the  bi>>,  wliitr 
sea-jiiills,  which  shun  liie  inhabited  isles.  Mrs.  'riia.xter,  a  native  of  A|)|iledoie,  and  wdl 
known  as  a  poetess,  thus  charmin^dv  describis  this  fantastic  and  fascinalinii  u:rouii  nl 
ledyc  and  ti,i|)  dike:  "Swept  by  every  wind  that  blows,  and  beatin  bv  the  bittir  biiiu, 
for  unknown  aj^es,  will  mav  the  Isles  of  Sho.ds  bi'  barren,  iiliMk.  and  bare.  At  lust 
siylit,  nothinii  can  be  more  rouuh  and  inhos|)itable  than  they  apjiear.  Tiie  incevsnit 
inlluences  of  wind  ,ind  sun,  rain,  snow,  frost,  and  sprav,  have  so  bleached  the  tops  ol  iIk 
locks  til, It  tiiev  look  lioirv  as  if  with  a^e,  tliouiih  in  the  summer-time  a  gracious  yn  cn- 
ness  of  ve;j:etalion  bii'aks,  here  and  there,  the  stern  outlines,  and  softens  somewhat  tlirii 
niffiied  aspect.  \'il,  so  foi bidding  are  their  shores,  it  seems  scarcely  worth  while  to  fiiui 
up<iii  llicm  mere  heajis  of  tumbliiiij  jjjranite  in  the  wide  and  loiu  ly  sea — when  all  iln' 
siniliiiir, '  sapphire-spanjrled  murrianc-rintr  of  (he  land'  lies  ready  to  woo  the  voya)ijer  link 
ajiain.  and  welcome  his  relurnint;  prow  with  pleasant  sounds,  and  sijihts,  and  scents,  lluit 
the  wild  waleis  never  know.  liul  to  the  human  creature  who  has  eyes  that  will  see,  .ind 
ears  thai  will  hi'ar.  Nature  apjieals  with  '<iu  h  a  novel  charm  (hat  the  luxurious  beiuitv 
of  the  land  is  half  forgotten  before  hi'  is  aware.  The  verv  wildness  and  desolation  n  veil 
a    slran(re    beaulv  to  him.      In    (he    <ailv  morninji  the  sea  is  rosy,  and  the  ^kv  ;    the  line 


oast,  comniuni- 
d    coUajics   t(ir 
anly  coiitainini: 
hadowy,  almost 
\ti'  inlu  distinct 
;iun,  and  \vd\'m^ 
re,  the  priiKi|)al 
ast    irrcfrulai    in 
is   divided  liv  a 
)s  of  sluulilii  iv. 
lie    island.       1  he 
;se    fjaunt    mcks, 
fanned    bv    (i»il 
I    a    sunoiiniliiiL: 
llie  waves.      }n^\ 
l)lack  leefs  niaiiv 
off   is    the    niii'-t 
of  ("losixirt,  ihr 
lihest  |)oint ;   ami 
)nei's,  jajf^ed  aiul 
I    loihiddini;   and 
lidden  insidioiisK 
th  the  bifi,  white 
lU'doie,  and  well 
natin,!.;    ,irniii|'   "' 
the  liittiT  I'linr. 
hare.      Al    ln'^i 
'I'lie    inee--sn)t 
I   the   tops  of  tlif 
a  maeious  );nen- 
s  somewhat  llnir 
111  while  to  land 
•a —when    all   ilu' 
llu-  voyager  hack 
^,  and  seenis,  tli;il 
that   will  Ml.  .mil 
hiNuritiiis    he.uilv 
desolation   reveal 
the  skv,    the  line 


PORTLAND    HAMBOn,     AND    IS'. ANUS 


412 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


of  land  is  radiant ;  the  scat- 
tered sails  glow  with  tiic  de- 
licious color  that  toucliLS  so 
tenderly  the  bare,  hloak 
rocks."  The  Isles  of  Slioals 
have  latterly  become  a  jilacc 
of  popular  resort,  and  uii 
Appledore  and  Star  Islands 
are  comfortable  hotels  and 
cottages,  which  in  suninur 
are  filled  to  overflowing  with 
lovers  of  the  subtile  cliarnis 
of  the  sea. 

Beyond  I^ortsmoiilh  the 
coast  runs  tolerably  evtii  lor 
some  distance  norihward; 
then,  from  Wells  llaiiidi, 
bends  gradually  to  the  iKntli- 
east,  until  the  isle  -  crowded 
entrance  of  Saco  Ri\(r  is 
reached.  It  is  dotted  all 
along  with  marine  hamlets 
and  fishing-villages,  lure  and 
tiiere  a  bit  of  broken  lieacli, 
and  now  and  tiien  a  •^liylit 
promontory  overlooking  llic 
sea.  \'ork  Beach  is  the 
principal  sand -expanse  be- 
tween Portsmouth  and  1 '(in- 
land, and  slopes  gently  to 
the  water  from  the  eminences 
behind.  The  coast  increases 
in  variegated  beauty  north  dI 
York,  and  affords  ample  oji- 
portunitics  for  fishermen,  bath- 
ers, and  loungers  by  the  iKian. 

Nothing  could  be  more 
strikingly  picturesque,  liow- 
ever,  than  the  marine  scenery 


THE    EASTERN   SHORE. 


413 


abimt  Portland,  or  than  that  most  rural  of  New-England  cities  itself,  as  it  perches  on 
its  iiigh  cliffs  above  bay,  valley,  island,  and  sea.  It  was  settled  very  early  in  the  colonial 
historv,  but  the  great  lire  of  1866  caused  its  renovation,  and  it  now  bears  a  fresh  and 
modern  as  well  as  otherwise  bright  and  thrifty  aspect.  Well  may  the  citizens  of  Port- 
land be  proud  of  its  superb  site;  its  exquisite  surroundings;  its  fme,  deep,  and  well- 
shcllcred  harbor;  its  cheerful,  shaded  streets;  its  handsome  public  buildings,  and  its  tasteful 
environs.  The  peculiarit /  of  the  Portland  landscape  is  that  it  presents  Nature  rather  in 
lur  softer  and  more  cheerful  than  in  her  grand  and  rugged  aspects.  The  many  islands 
which  dot  Casco  Bay  are  bright,  in  summer,  with  the  softest  and  richest  verdure  and 
foliage,  and  are  so  numerous  that,  like  Lake  Winnepiseogee,  they  are  said  to  equal  the 
iiunilier  of  ilays  in  the  year.  The  bay  itself  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  on  the  Atlan- 
tic coast,  and  has  been  compared  to  the  bay  of  Najiles,  so  broad  and  circidar  its  expanse, 
and  so  imposingly  is  it  enframed  in  ranges  of  green  and  undulating  hills.  Cape  I-Lli/a- 
lioth,  which  forms  the  outermost  southern  point  of  the  bay,  is  the  nearest  apjjroach  in 
this  vicinity  to  the  rude  and  jagged  eminences  already  described  as  King  farther  to  the 
soulli.  It  is  a  series  of  lofty,  jutting  cliffs,  rising  abriq>tlv  from  the  ocean,  and  crowned 
with  wood  and  shrubbery,  which  relieve  its  gauntness.  The  Twin-Sisters  IJght-houses 
stand  on  the  end  of  the  cape;  and  from  these  an  inspiring  view  of  the  bay  and  harbor, 
of  tlic  tlistant  city  rising  above  its  ledges,  of  the  many  isl;  nds  lying  close  and  irregu- 
laih  liitween  shore  and  shore,  and,  in  the  distance,  of  tlu'  torn  and  stormv  piomontories 
whicli  stretch  out  north  of  Porthnul,  is  obtained.  Nearer  Portland  is  Peak's  Island,  kix- 
iiiiaut  in  foliage,  and  varied  with  natural  bowers  and  lovely  retreats.  Here,  too,  is  a 
favorable  stand-point  whence  to  look  u])on  the  genial  and  wuicd  landscape;  while  Dia- 
mond Isl.md,  the  pet  spot  for  "down-Iuist"  picnics,  is  famous  the  country  round  for  its 
jjroves  of  noble  trees,  its  occasionally  rocky  shore  interspersed  with  narrow  bits  of  beach, 
and  its  natural  lawns  of  deep-green  turf 

One  ot  the  largest  and  most  attractive  spots  in  Portland  Harbor  is  ("ushing's  Island, 
the  edges  t)f  which  are  bordered  by  high  bluffs  crowned  with  shrid)S  and  turf,  with  here 
and  there  a  low,  rocky  shore  or  a  graceful  inlet.  The  island  is  one  t)f  the  laigest,  com- 
prising two  hundred  and  fifty  acres,  and  is  provided  with  a  single  building,  an  jiotel  for 
siniinier  sojourners.  The  view  from  here  is  perhaps  more  various  and  extensive  than 
Ironi  any  other  point,  for  it  includes  the  harbor,  ship-channel,  and  citv,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  towering  ledges  of  Cape  I-llizabeth  on  the  othei.  I'orts  Preble,  Scammel,  Gorges, 
and  Portland  Light,  loom  in  the  near  distance;  tlie  busy  wharves  of  Poitland  are  seen 
crowded  with  their  craft  of  manv  climes;  the  neighboring  islands  ])resent  each  a  novel 
and  contrasted  aspect  of  shape  and  color;  the  heavy  si-a-breakers  ma\'  be  seen  settling 
tiieniselvcs  into  the  smooth,  blue  rip|)le  of  the  bav  ;  and  sometimes  a  glimpse  is  h;id  of 
the  snowy  summit  of  Mount  Washington,  and  its  sister  eminences,  dimly  outlined  (ui 
the  far  northwestern  horizon. 


I.  ..■ 


T 


■-      '■^-■it^^r.l-   ' 


THE     ADIRONDACK     REGION 


WITH    III  rsi'KA  rioNs   i;v    iiakrv    fenn. 


Ascent   of  Whiteface. 


IT  is  a  common  notion  ainontr  F.iiropeans  —  cvi-n  those  wiio  have  travelled  cx- 
tensiveiv  in  this  countrv — that  there  is  verv  little  <fian(l  seeiiery  in  the  riiitnl 
States  east  of  the  Mississippi  River.  The  cause  of  this  delusion  is  obvious  enough.  The 
great  routes  of  travel  run  throuj^h  the  fertile  plains,  where  the  mass  of  the  popul.itinii  is 
naturally  found,  and  where  the  great  cities  have  consequently  arisen.  The  grand  ;iiul 
picturesque  scenery  of  the   country  lies   far   aloof  from   the   great    lines  of  railroail ;    iiul 


SSSB***"*^ 


THE    ADIRONDACK    REGION. 


4' 5 


vc  travelled  ex- 
in    I  lie    I 'nihil 

us  eiioiifjli.     Tlu' 

he  pojnihitiiin  is 
riie    firand   ;in(l 

ot    railroad  ;  .mil 


the  traveller  whirls  on  tor  hundreds 
(if  miles  through  tlie  level  retfion, 
;iii(l  deeides  that  the  aspeet  of 
AiiKiica  is  very  tame  anil  monot- 
onous, and  that  it  has  no  scenery 
to  show  except  the  Ilijrhlands  of 
tlir  iludson,  Lake  (leorge,  and  the 
F.ills  of  Niagara. 

In  the  State  of  New  York 
all  me,  iiowever — to  say  nothing  of 
the  mountains  and  the  sea  -  coast 
Xrw  Enfrland,  or  the  moimtains 
of  Pennsylvania,  X'irginia,  North 
CaHilina,  and  Tennessee — there  are 
vast  ri'Si'ions  of  the  most  beautiful 
anil  picturesque  scenery,  to  which 
IJK'  foreign  traveller  seldom  pene- 
tr.iics,  and  of  which  scarcely  a 
irlinipse  can  he  obtained  from  the 
nuMt  lines  of  rai'roail,  which  havi' 
liicn  estai)lished  for  ])urposes  of 
tniilc,  and  not  for  sight  -  seeing. 
West  of  the  Iludson  lies  a  moun- 
taininis  region,  half  as  large  as 
WiK's,  aiiounding  in  grand  scenery, 
knnwn  onlv  to  the  wandering  artist 
or  tile  a(l\'eiituroiis  hunter;  and  be- 
voml  that,  in  the  centre  of  the 
Stale,  a  lowi'r  ami  still  larger  re- 
ijion,  studded  with  the  loveliest 
lakes  in  the  world,  and  adorned 
with  beautiful  villages,  rom.mtically 
situ, lied  amid  rockv  glens,  like  that 
of  Walkins,  exhibiting  some  of  the 
sir.ingest  freaks  of  Nature  an\- 
uiieie  to  be  seen,  and  water-falls 
of  prodigious  height  and  of  the 
wildest   beauty. 

Uut  the  grandeur  oi"  the  Cats- 


'     ] 


riic    .Vusablc   Llnsm. 


I         S 


mfsfmrnm^ 


416 


P/C TURESQUE    AMERICA. 


V    I 


Birmingham    ialls,    Ausablu   (^iiasni. 


kills,  and  the  loveliness  of  the  lakc-reoion  of  Central  New  York,  arc  both  surpassed  in 
the  great  Wilderness  of  Northern  New  N'ork,  the  Adirondack,  where  the  moiml;iins 
tower  far  above  the  loftiest  of  the  Catskills,  and  where  the  lakes  arc  to  he  counted  bv 
the  hundreds,  and  are  not  sur|)asscd  in  heautv  even  i)V  I>akes  George,  Otsego,  or  Seiura. 
This  remarkable  tract,  which  thirty  years  ago  was  known,  even  by  name,  only  to  a  few 
hunters,  trappers,  imtl  lumbermen,  lies  between  Lakes  George  and  Champlain  on  tiu' 
east,  and  the  St.  Lawrence  on  the  northwest.      It  extends,  on  the  north,  to  Canada,  aiul, 


THE    AiyROXPACK    RF.C.IOX. 


417 


(III  tlu'  south,  nearly  to  tlic  Mo- 
liawk-  111  area  it  is  considcrahl)' 
lamii  than  (.'onnccticut,  and,  in 
fact,  nearly  a|)proachcs  Wales  in 
size,  and  lesenihles  that  coinitiy 
al-d  in  its  niountainuus  eharacter, 
though  man\'  of  the  mountains  are 
a  liiiiusand  or  two  thousand  feet 
liiirlur  tiian  the  hi.y^hest  of  the 
Wdsh. 

iMve  ranjres  of  mountains,  run- 
ninu  nearly  parallel,  traverse  tiie 
Adirondack  from  southwest  to 
nortiieast,  where  they  terminate  on 
the  shores  of  Lake  ("hampiain. 
The  tiftii  and  most  westerly  ranjre 
hciiins  at  Little  l"'alls,  and  termi- 
nates at  Trembleau  Point,  on  Lake 
Cliamphiin.  It  hears  tlie  name 
Clinton  Range,  though  it  is  also 
sometimes  called  the  Adirondack 
Range.  It  contains  the  highest 
peaks  of  the  whole  region,  the  lof- 
tiest lieing  Mount  Marcv,  or  Taha- 
wus,  five  thousand  three  hundred 
and  thirty-three  feet  high.  Though 
none  of  these  peaks  attain  to  the 
heiulit  of  the  loftiest  summits  of 
the  White  Mountains  of  New 
llani|)shire,  or  the  Black  Moun- 
tains of  North  Carolina,  their  gen- 
eral elevation  surpasses  that  of  any 
langi;  east  (f  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. The  'Utile  number  of  moun- 
tains in  this  region  is  supposed  to 
exceed  live  hundred,  of  which  onlv 
a  tew  have  received  separate  names. 
The    highest    peaks,   besides    Taha- 

wus,     are     Whitefaee,     Di.\      Peak, 

m 


^^>m9 


CLEAHINO     A    JAM,     GfHEAT     FALLS    OF    THE     AUSAULE 


TUli    ADlROKniCK    R  El,  I  ON. 


419 


\''- .  nacs,    Tuppcr,    the    Fulton     Lakes,    and     Lakes    Coklen, 

Henderson,  Sanford,  Kckt'oid,  Racket,  I'orkcd,  New- 
conil),  anil  l^leasant.  Steep,  densely-wooded  mountains  rise  finm  their  marfrins ;  beau- 
tiful   bays    indent    tl\eir    borders,    and    leafy    points    jut    out;    sjirinij;    brooks    tinkle    in; 


iir 


420 


PIC TURESQ  UE    AMERICA. 


while  the  shalLws  are  fringed  with  water -grasses  and  flowering  plants,  and  covered 
sometimes  with  acres  of  white  and  yellow  water-lilies.  Tiie  lakes  are  all  lovely  and 
romantic  in  every  .ning  cxeejit  thi;ir  names,  and  the  scenery  they  offer,  in  combination 
witii  the  towering  mountains  and  t.ie  old  and  savage  forest,  is  not  surpassed  on  earth. 
In  natural   features    it    greatly  resembles  ^Switzerland  and  the  Scottish   Highlands,  as  ilicy 


Whileface,    from    Like    Placid. 


must  have  l)een  before  those  regions  were  settled  and  cultivated.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Murray 
says  that  an  .\meriean  artist,  t'tv,-,  jnng  in  Switzerland,  wrote  home,  a  year  or  two  ago, 
that,  "having  travelled  over  all  Switzerland  and  the  Khinc  and  Khone  regions,  he  luid 
not  met  wit!:  :;',"-'nery  whicn,  judged  from  a  purely  artistic  point  of  view,  combined  so 
tnany  beauties  in  connection  with  such  grandeur  as  the  lakes,  mountains,  and  forest^-  ol 
the  Adirondack   icgion   presented  to  the  gazer's  eye." 


THE    ADIRONDACK    RIH.ION. 


421 


This  labyrinth  of  h'kcs  is  in- 
lei.u-incd  and  connected  by  a  very 
intricate  system  of  rivers,  brooks, 
and  rills.  The  Saranac,  the  Ausa- 
hle,  the  Boquet,  and  the  Racket, 
rise  in  and  How  through  this  wil- 
derness ;  and  in  its  loftiest  and 
most  dism;M  recesses  are  found  the 
s|)rinirs  of  :he  Hudson  and  its  ear- 
liest i)ranches. 

The  chief  river  of  Adirondack, 
however — its  great  highway  and  ar- 
terv — is  the  Racket,  which  rises  in 
Riicket  Lake,  in  the  western  part 
of  Hamilton  County,  and,  after  a 
devious  course  of  about  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  miles.  Hows  into 
the  St.  Lawrence.  It  is  the  most 
beautiful  river  of  the  Wilderness. 
Its  siiorcs  are  generally  low,  and 
extend  back  some  distance  in  fer 
tile  meadows,  upon  which  grow  the 
soft  maple,  the  as])en,  alder,  linden, 
,1111 1  (itiier  deciduous  trees,  inter- 
spersed with  the  hemlock  and 
|iiiie.  These  fringe  its  borders,  and, 
standing  in  clumps  upon  tlu'  mead- 
ows in  the  midst  of  rank  grass, 
give  them  the  appearance  of  beau- 
tiful deer-parks ;  and  it  is  there,  in- 
(hvd   that  the  deer  chieHy  pasture. 

Ivxcept  these  meadows  of  tiie 
Kaekel,  and  the  i)road  expanses  of 
lakes  and  ponds,  the  whole  surface 
of  the  Wilderness  is  covered  witli 
a  tangled  forest,  through  which 
man  can  scarcely  penetrate.  The 
trees  arc  the  pine,  hemlock,  spruce, 
white-cedar,  and    lir,  on    the   lowest 


'f 


""■^IBB 


[I  :: 


422 


riC  TUR  ESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


grounds  and  higlicr  slopes  and  summits  of  tlie  liills  ;  and  the  maple,  beech,  wiiitc 
and  black  ash,  birch,  and  elm,  on  the  intermediate  surface.  Everywhere  lie  jjieat 
prone  trunks  mantled  in  moss,  while  overheat!,  in  summer,  the  waving  plumes  of  foji- 
age  shut  out  the  light,  and  scarcely  admit  the  air.  Under  the  lofty  trees  are  otliers, 
white-birch  and  aspen,  with  the  saplings  of  the  former  trees,  and  bushes  of  hojiple  and 
sumach,  that  scarcely  see  the  light  or  feel  tiie  wind.  But  occasionally  the  tornado  tears 
through,  and  leaves  tracks  which  time  turns  into  green  alleys  and  dingles,  where  th.  Ijjnl 
builds  and  the  rabbit  gambols.  Loosened  trees  lean  on  their  fellows,  and  others  grow  on 
rocks,  grasping  them  with  immense  claws  which  plunge  into  the  mouid  below.  All  looks 
monotonous,  and   seems   dreary.      "  ikit  select  a  spot,"  says  Mr.  Street,  the  poet  of  tlicse 


KiMlllil      l,.lkt,      ttillll      li.tltlt-11 


woods;  "let  the  eye  become  a  little  accustomed  to  the  scene,  and  how  the  piclurrs(|iu 
beauties,  the  delicate,  minute  charms,  the  small,  overlooked  things,  steal  out,  liUe  linking; 
tints  in  ui  old  picture!  See  that  wreath  .)f  fern,  gracelid  as  the  garland  of  a  CiKck 
victor  at  the  games;  how  it  hides  tin  dark,  crooked  root  writhing,  snake-like,  from  von 
beech!  I,(tok  at  tlie  beech's  instep  steepetl  in  moss,  green  as  emerald,  with  othei  moss 
twining  round  the  silver-sjM)tted  Irimk  in  garlands,  or  in  bi<»ad,  thick,  velvety  s|m»1s1  He- 
hold  yonder  slump,  charred  with  the  lumter's  cainn-lire,  and  glistening,  black,  and  sitin- 
like,  in  its  cracked  ebony!  Mark  yon  mass  of  creeping  pine,  mantling  the  black  niiuiM 
with  fur/y  softness!  X'iew  those  polished  cohosh-berries,  white  as  drops  of  pearl!  Sec 
the    purple    barberries  anu  crimson  clusteis  of  the    hopple    eonfrasting    th»ir    vivid    hues! 


TffR    .\niRO\n.lCK    RFA}IO\L 


42.^ 


wnT^ri'  ;'»!''  '         ''"•'    ''1^'    massive  logs,  peeled 

liy  (leeay — what   .tiiay,  downy 

MiiooMiin'ss !    aihi   llie  jrrasses   in  whieli    they  are 

welterinfi — how    lull    of    beautiful    motions    and 

outlines ! " 

in  these  woods  and  in  these  mountain  soli- 
tudes are  found  the  panther,  the  j^reat  liiaek 
liiMr,  llie  wolf,  the  wild-eat,  the  lynx,  and  the  wolverine.  I'.vt'n  the  moose  is  some- 
tiiiKs  met  with.  Deer  are  ai)undant ;  and  so,  also,  are  the  fisher,  sable,  otter,  mink,  musk- 
rat,  fox,  l)ad<ier,  woodehuek,  ral)i)il,  and  several  varieties  of  the  S(|iiirrel.  There  aie  seareely 
aiiv  snakes,  and  none  larj^e  or  venomous. 

.\monjf  the  i)irds  arc  tiic  jjiand  blaek  war-eagle,  several  kinds  of  hawk,  owl,  loon, 
anl  (luek  ;  the  erane,  heron,  raven,  crow,  stake-driver,  mud-hen,  brown  thrush,  partridge, 
lilue-jav,  blaeki)ir(i,  kiiig-lisher,  and  mountain-hneh.  The  salmon-trout  and  the  speckled 
trout  swarm  in  the  lakes,  and  the  latter  also  in  the  brooks  and  rivers.  The  lake-trout 
arc  caught  sometiuics  of  twenty  pounds  and  more  in  weight;  the  speckled  tiout,  how- 
ever, are  not   large,  except   in   rare  cases,  or  in  S'.'ldom-visiled  jionds  or  l)rooks. 

Natural  curiosities  abound  in  Adirondack.  rii.il  others  are  buried  in  tlu'  terrific 
forests   still  darkening  two-thirds  of  ihe  surface,  cannot   be  doubted. 

Among  the  curiosities  known  are  I.ake  Paradox,  whose  outlet  in  high  water  Hows 
liaek  on  llie  lake;  the  pond  on  the  summit  of  Mount  Joseph,  wliosi'  rim  is  close  upon 
the  etige ;  the  mingling  of  the  fountains  of  the  lludson  and  .\us.ible,  in  fresluts,  in  the 
liidi.'ii  Pass;  the  torrent -dashes  or  lacc-work  bom  the  greater  i/r  lesser  rain  down  the 
H;ni()ved  side  of  Mount  ("olden  to'  ard  Lake  Avalanche;  the  three  lakes  on  the  top  of 
Walllace,  sending  strearns  into  the  Si.  Lawren-e  bv  Cold  Kiver  and  the  Kaeket,  into 
Lake  Champlain  by  the  Ausable,  and  the  Atlantii  by  the  Hudson;  the  enormous  rocks 
of  llic  Indian  i'ass  standing  upon  sharp  eilges  on  steep  slopes,  and  looking  as  if  the 
tk'i  r,  breaking  off  against  them  his  yearly  antlers,  would  topple  theiii  headlong,  vet  de- 
fyiii!.;  unmov'd  the  mighty  agencies  of  frost,  and  plumed  with  lowering  trees;  with  all 
the   e.ivern    iiitrieacv    between    and    uiuleine.ith    the    fallen    masses,    where    the    ice   gleams 


K^ 

'i"-\ 


I       i 

I        I 


■■  1 


424 


PfCTURHSQUIi    AMERICA. 


unmelted  throughout  the 
year ;  and  the  same  rock  in- 
tricacy in  the  Panther  Odrjje 
of  Mount  Marcy,  or  Taha- 
wus. 

Tlic  Wilmington  Notch 
and  the  Indian  Pass  arc 
great  curiosities.  The  fomur 
is  thus  described  by  Mr. 
Street,  in  his  "  Woods  and 
Waters : " 

"  At  North  Elba,  we 
crossed  a  bridge  where  the 
Ausable  came  winding  down, 
and  then  followed  its  iiank 
toward  the  northeast,  over  a 
good  hard  wheel-track,  gen- 
erally descending,  with  the 
thick  woods  almost  continu- 
ally around  us,  and  the  little 
river  shooting  darts  of  light 
at  us  through  the  leaves. 

"  At  length  a  broad  sum- 
mit, risnig  to  a  taller  one, 
broke  above  the  foliage  at 
our  right,  and  at  the  same 
time  a  gigantic  mass  of  mek 
and  forest  saluted  us  ii|iiin 
our  left — the  giant  portals  of 
the  notch.  We  entered.  The 
pass  suddenly  shrank,  ] Mess- 
ing the  rocky  ri\er  and 
rough  road  close  together.  It 
was  a  chasm  cloven  bditily 
through  the  flank  of  While- 
face.  On  each  side  towered 
the  mountains,  hut  at  cur 
left  the  range  rose  in  still 
sublimei   altitude,  with  grand 


;hrougliout  the 
le  same  rock  in- 
;  Panther  Gorge 
^larcy,  or   Taha- 

Imington  Notch 
ndian  Pass  are 
ics.  The  foniicT 
scribed  by  Mr. 
is    "  Woods   and 


lorth  Elba,  we 
ridge  where  the 
le  winding  down, 
jllowed  its  t)ank 
northeast,  o\cr  a 
wheel-tracl;,  gen- 
nding,    with    the 

almost  coiitinu- 
us,  and  the  little 
ig  darts  of  lijfht 
h  the  leaves, 
igth  a  broad  sum- 
to  a  taller  one, 
-  the  foliage  at 
nd  at  the  same 
itic  mass  of  rock 
saluted  us  updii 
;  giant  portals  of 
Wc  entered.  The 
ly  shrank,  inesv 
)cky  river  and 
;lose  together.  It 
m    cloven    b(ddlv 

Hank  of  Wliite- 
ich  side  toxvenil 
in.s,  but  at  our 
ige  rose  in  still 
tude,  with  grand 


■i  ; 


P'    ( 


TU/i    .  I DIR  OND.  I CK    R  li  i.lON. 


425 


precipices  like  a  iniijcstic  '.vali,  or  u  line  of 
iwlisailes  clinibin,<r  sheer  from  the  half-way  for- 
ests upward.  The  crowded  row  of  pines  alonfi 
tlic  liioken  and  wavy  crest  was  diminished  to 
a  fringe.  The  whole  prospect,  except  the 
rock'^,  was  dark  with  tuickest,  wildest  woods. 
As  we  rode  slowly  throujih  the  still-narrowing 
sjor^e,  the  mountains  soared  higher  and  higher, 
as  if  to  scale  the  clouds,  |)resenting  truly  a 
tcnilic  majesty.  1  shrank  within  myself;  1 
seemed  to  dwindle  heneath  it.  Something 
alike  to  dread  pervaded  tlie  scene.  The  moun- 
tains ai)pcai"cd  knitting  their  stern  hrows  into 
one  threatening  frown  at  oin-  daring  intrusion 
inlo  tlieir  stately  solitudes.  Xothing  seemed 
nali\i.'  to  the  awful  landsea|)e  but  tlii'  plunge 
of  the  torrent  and  the  scream  of  the  eagle. 
Rven  tiie  shy,  wild  deer,  drinking  at  tlie  stream, 
would  iiave  been  out  of  keeping.  Below,  at 
our  left,  the  dark  Ausal)le  dashed  onward 
wiili  hoarse,  foreboding  murmurs,  in  harmony 
with  the  loneliness  and  wildness  of  the  spot. 

"  We  jiassed  two  miles  through  this  sub- 
lime a\enue,  which  at  mid-da\'  was  onl\'  par- 
tially ligiited  fiom  the  narrow   loof  of  sky. 

"  At  length  the  peak  of  Whiteface  itself 
nppearcil  above  the  acclivit\'  at  oiu'  left,  and, 
once  emerging,  kept  in  view  in  misty  azure. 
Tin  re  it  stood,  its  crest  -whenci-  I  had  gaxed 
a  lew  days  before — rising  like  some  jjcdestal 
Imilt  u|)  by  |o\e  or  i'.m  to  overlook  hi^ 
re.iliu.  The  pinnacles  piled  about  it  seemed 
lull  vast  sle|)s  reared  for  its  ascent.  One 
(lark,  wooded  summit,  a  mere  i)ulwark  of  the 
mighty  mass  abovi-,  showed  atiiwart  its  heart 
a  liro.\d,  pale  streak,  either  the  channel  of  .1 
vanished  torrent,  or  another  but  far  less  for- 
niidable  slide.  The  notch  now  broailened,  an<l, 
in   a    rapid    descent    of    the    road,  the    .Vusable 


U 


%. 


1 5 


426 


/'/( ■  /Y  RJuSOC  •/;■    AMERICA. 


II 


caiiif  iiiiaiii  ill  \ic\v,  plimuiiiL;  ami  (wistiiiji:  liuwii  a  goigc  ol'  rocks,  witli  ihc  loam  liuncr 
at  intervals  throii<r|i  the-  skirtiny  trcL's.  At  hist  the  i)ass  opened  into  eullivatcd  iiclds ; 
the  acclivities  at  our  ligiil  wheeled  away  sharply  east,  luil  Whitefacc  yet  waved  alonir 
the  western  horizon." 

lahawiis    has    often    been    ascended,  though    the  task    is    h)'    no    means   an    eas\   ouf. 


Oil     luiijicr    Lake. 

Its  suniiiiit  commands  a  ma<iniliccut   jjrospect,  which    is    thus  tiescrihed   by   Mr.  Slrcri    in 
his  "  Indian   Pass  :  " 

"What  a  nudtilude  of  peaks!  The  whoK'  hoiizon  is  full  to  repletion.  As  a  Liiiiiii 
said,  '  Wlu-re  iIkic  wasn't  a  liiii  |)i'ak,  a  litlk'  one  was  stuck  \\\\  Really  true,  and  lidu 
savage!  how  wild!  Close  on  mv  tight  rises  Haystack,  a  truncated  cone,  the  top  ^Ikum! 
a|)parenllv  to  a  smootii  le\el.  To  the  west  soars  the  suhlitne  slojii-  of  Mount  Ciiltlin, 
with  .\lclnt\ii'  looking  over  its  shoulder;  a  little  above,  [loint  thi'  purple  |iiaks  di 
Mount  .Seward  -a  grand  mountain-cathedral — with  the  to|)s  of  Mount  I  Undersoil  ;ui(l 
S.intaiioni    in    misiv    sa|)phire.      .\t     the    southwest     shimmers    a    dreamv    suimnit     -Mine 


Uo^-RivtT    I''alls,  Tupper    l,akc. 


Mountain  ;  while  to  tlu'  south  stands  the  near  and  les.ser  top  of  Skylight.  Be\(iuil.  at 
the  southeast,  wave  the  stern  crests  of  the  Morons  Mountain.  Thence  ascends  the  Dili. 
with  its  leaning  cone,  like  the  Tower  of  I'isa  ;  and  close  to  it  swells  the  majestv  (it 
Dix's  Peak,  shaiud  like  a  slumbering  lioi\.  Thence  stagger  the  wild,  savage,  s|ilint(i((i 
tops    of    the  (iotliii     .Moimlain^    ,it     the    Lower  Ausable    Pond     a   lagged   liumdei-elouii 


wmsf^ 


TUJ-:    ADIRONDACK    RliCIOX. 


427 


ns   an    i'iis\   (inc. 


)y   Mr.   Stiirl    in 


linUin^r  themselves,  on    the   cast,  witli  the 
.Voon-Mark   and    Ro^jers's  Mountain,  ihat 
ualch  over  the  \alley  of  Keene.      To  the 
northeast,  rise  the    lulmiinds's   Pond    sum- 
mits—the iiiountain-|)ieture    elosed   li\-  the 
shaiji    crest     of     oM    VVhiteface     on     tlie 
niiiiii  —  stately    outpost    of    tlie    Adiron- 
(i.icks.      Scallereil  tlirouj^h  tliis  picture  are 
nianilold  expanses  of  water — those  ahnost 
inili'ipensahle  eyes  of  a    land.scape.      That 
iriittcr   at    the   north   l)y   old  Whiteface    is 
Lake-    Placid;    and    llie   spanjrlc,   Bennett's 
I'dinl.      \'on    streak    runniiiLj    south    from 
Mount    Seward,    as    if   a    silver    vein    luul 
hriii    o| Idled    in    the    stern    mountain,    is 
i.dni;     Lake;    and,    hetween     it    and    our 
vision,  shine    Lakes    Henderson   and  San- 
Idiii,    with    the    s|)arkles    of    Lake    Ilark- 
mss,  and    the    twni-lakes   Jamie    and    Sal- 
lie.      -At    the    southwest,  tilances    heautiful 
liinc- Mountain     Lake       ii.unc    most    su<r- 
Uisii\c    and    poetic.      South,    lies     Boreas 
I'diid,  with    its    irrecn   l)eaver-meadow  and 
a   mass    of    rock    at    tlie    edjre.      'l"o    tlu' 
siiutheast,  glisten    tlie    fTppcr    and    Lower 
Aiisal)le    Pontls  ;    and,    farther    oft,   in    the 
same    direction,    Miul    and    Clear     Ponds, 
hv  the    Dial    ant!    Di.x's   Peak.       But  what 
is    Ihat     loiiii,    louLj    fjleam    at    the    east.' 
Lake    ("hamplain  !       And    that    ylitterinj; 
liiir    north?      '["he     St.    Lawrence,    above 
the  (lark  sea  of  the  Canadian  woods !  " 

The  Indian  Pass  is  a  stu|)endous 
ifDruc  in  the  wildest  jiart  of  the  .Adiron- 
dack Mountains,  in  Ihat  lonelv  and  sav- 
atic  rejrjon  which  the  ahoriyines  \v^\\\.\\ 
named  Conyacrapja,  or  the  Dismal  Wil- 
(leriuss,  the  larfrer  |)ortion  of  which  has 
never    yet     hcen     visited     liv    while     men, 


'::      ( 


;ki   '    i 


t\ 


II 


i   1! 


428 


PK '  T(  RESOUF.     A  MURK  W. 


ami  Inch  slill  aiii.im^ 
the  secure  hauiU  of  the 
wolf,  the  ])antlKM,  the 
jafreat  black  bear,  ami  tlii' 
rarer  hii.x,  wolveiiiie. 
and  moose.  The  springs 
which  form  the  source 
are  found  at  an  ele\ation  ol  mori' 
than  four  thousand  fi'ct  above  the 
sea,  in  rocky  recesses,  in  whose 
cold  depths  the  ice  of  winter 
never  melts  entireh"  awa\',  but  re- 
mains in  SOUK'  measure  ext'ii  in 
the  hottest  months  of  the  \ear. 
Here,  in  tlu'  centre  of  the  pass, 
rise  also  the  springs  of  the  Ausa- 
ble,  which  Hows  into  Lake  ( "ham- 
plain,  and  whose  w.iters  reach  the  Atlantic  throufrh  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Lawrence  sevcnil 
hundred  miU'S  from  the  moiMii  of  the  i  luds(m  ;  and  vet,  so  close  are  the  sprinys  ot  tin 
two  rivers,  that  the  wild-eat,  la|)pinii  the  water  of  the  one,  may  l)athe  his  hind-feet  in  the 
othei,  and  a  rock  lollii  |  from  the  piecipices  above  could  scatter  spray  from  both  in  tlu' 
same  concussion.  In  freshets,  the  waters  of  llu-  two  stream;'  actually  miiij^le.  The  main 
stream  of  the  Ausable,  however,  Hows  from  the  northeast  portal  of  the  ])ass ;  and  the  main 
stream  of  the  liudsou   iiom   the  southwcs'.     It  is  locallv  known  as  the  Adirondack  Kivir, 


\  tarry  near  I.itlle  Tuppcr   Lake. 


THE    API  R0\  PACK    RI-CIOX. 


429 


,111(1,  after  leaving  the  pass,  flows  into  Lakes  Henderson  and  Sanfoid.  (^n  issuinL;  froni 
tlu'iii  it  reeeives  the  name  ot  lliulson,  and  passes  into  Warren  ('oimiv,  n'eeixiny  tiie 
IJdUMS  and  the  Sehruon,  wiiieh,  witii  their  l)ranelies,  l)rinji  lo  it  the  waters  of  a  seore  or 
nuirr  of  mountain  lakes  and  of  Jams  inniimeral)le. 

Thirty  years  aj^t),  Adirondaek  was  almost  as  unknown  as  the  interior  of  AlViea. 
'riure  were  few  iuits  or  iiouses  there,  and  vi'ry  lew  visitors.  lUit  of  late  the-  nunii)er  of 
siHiitsinen  and  tourists  has  i^reatly  inereased,  and  taxerns  have  hei'u  estal>iished  in  some 
(if  the  wildest  spots.  In  summer,  the  iakis  swarm  witii  the  lioats  of  travellers  in  seareh 
(if  Lianie,  or  health,  or  mere  eontemplation  of  iieautiiul  scenerv ,  and  tiie  strange  si<fhts 
and  sounds  of  piimiti\e  Nature.  All  tia\ellin<i'  there  is  done  li\-  means  of  lioats  of 
small  size  and  slijrht  build,  rowed  by  a  sinsile  <;uide,  and  made  so  liyiu  thai  the  eraft 
can  l>e  lilted    from    the    water,  and    carried    on    the    u,uidi's  shouldt'rs  h(im    jioud   to   poiui, 


'  HI 


\  M 


1  .awrenee  S(\ cial 
le  spriuiis  ol  liu 
^  hind-feet  in  tin' 
rom  both  in  tlu' 
!n<ile.  The  ni;iin 
ss ;  and  the  ni;iin 
Adirondack  Kiva, 


l.uii^    l.iki:.    hniii    ilic    Lower    Ishind. 

(ir  horn  stream  to  stream.  Competent  guides,  stead\ .  inteliim'iit,  and  expt'rieneed  men, 
can  lie  hired  at  all  the  taverns  for  two  or  thrii'  dollars  a  da\ .  who  will  |irovide  boats, 
icnts,  and  every  thin<r  reiiuisite  for  a  tri|i.  l',ach  travelk'r  should  liaxe  a  yuide  and  a 
liii.il  to  himsell,  and  the  cost  of  their  maintenance  in  the  woods  is  not  moic  than  a 
(Kill.u  a  week  for  each  man  of  tlii'  part\'.  Tlie  fare  is  thiilly  iioui  and  xinison,  of 
which  there  is  ijenerallv  an  abundance  to  be  procured  b\  yun  and  ,'hI.  .\  ^ood-si/.ed 
v.ilise  or  carpet-bag  will  hold  all  the  clothes  that  one  |)crson  needs  loi  a  two  months'  tri|i 
in  the  woods,  besides  thosi'  he  wears  in.     Nothing  is  wanted  but   wo(;llen  and   llanniT 

The  following  list  c()m])riscs  the  essentials  of  an  outlit:  a  conipkle  undiisuit  of  wool- 
len or  ilannel,  with  a  "change;"  stout  pantaloons,  \est,  and  coat  ;  a  felt  hat  ;  two  pairs 
ol  stockings;  a  ])air  i,>f  common  winter-boots  and  camp-shoes;  a  rubber  blankil  or  coat; 
a  hunting-knife,  belt,  and  pint  tin  cup  ;    a  jiair  of  warm  blanket'^,  towel,  soap,  etc. 


430 


picTUREsoun  ami:r[l  \i. 


There  iiro  several  routes  hv  uliicli  Ailiioiidaek  eaii  be  p-aelied  ;  l)ut  the  li^st  imi 
easiest  IVoiii  New  N'ork  is  tliat  li\  Lake  Cliaiiiplain.  The  steamer  iVoin  W'liiti  lull  will 
laiul  the  traveller  at  I'ort  Kent,  on  the  west  side  of  (he  lake,  nearly  Djijiosite  lUirlinLiion. 
X'ermont,  where  eoaches  are  always  waitinj::  In  take  passengers,  six  miles,  to  Keesev  illc. 
Here  eonveyances  lor  the  Wilderness  ean  always  he  had,  whieh  will  earry  liic  ti.url- 
ler  to  Martin's  Tavern,  on  the  Lower  .Sanmae,  a  distanee  ol  about  litl\  miles,  wWuh  is  ,; 
\onix    da\'s    drive,  but    a    ver\'  pleasant    and    inlt'ri'Stinjr    one.      I'rom   Martin's,  tiie    idinivi 


.Mduiu    Si'w.ikI,    from    I.onj;    l.akc. 

moves  about  altojuetlier  in  boats,  and  ean,  as  he  jileases,  eamp  out  in  his  tent,  or  so  liiiu 
iiis  da\'s  voyati'e  as  to  pass  each  ni.yht  in  sonii'  one  ot  tiie  mdi'  but  eomtortable  laveiii--, 
whieh  are  now  to  be  found  in  almost  all  of  the  easily-aecessiiile  jnuts  of  the  Wilderness, 
it  was  I'rom  this  (piarter  that  our  artist  entered  Adirondack.  At  Keesevilie  \\v 
jiaused  for  a  da\'  or  two  to  sketch  the  falls  and  walletl  rocks  of  the  Ansable  chasm. 
whieh  atford  somi'  of  thi'  wildest  and  most  im|>ressive  scenes  to  he  toimd  on  liiis  si(k 
of  the    kockv   Mouatains.     .At  the  distance  of   a    mile    or  so  from    Kei'si-\ille  is   Hirniiiii'- 


*feiAh*s*.-2. 


Kountl    I.slanti,    I^oni;    L.-iko 


ham  Falls,  where  the  Ausable  descends  about  thirtv  feet  into  a  semicircular  basin  of 
iireat  beauty;  a  mile  farther  down  are  the  (Ireat  Falls,  one  hundred  and  hfty  feel  hiuii 
surrounded  bv  the  wildest  scenerv.  iielow  this  the  stream  jrrows  narrower  and  iiee|)rr. 
and  rushes  rapidlv  tiiroujih  the  chasm,  where,  at  the  narrowest  point,  a  wedired  bowlder 
cramps  the  channel  to  the  width  of  live  or  si.x  feet.  I'rom  the  main  .stream  brauelus 
run  at  rijrht  ansjles  throujjh  fissures,  down  one  of  which,  between  almost  perpendiciiku 
rocks  a  hundred  feet   hij.ih,  hangs  an  ecjuaily  stei'p  stairwav  of  over  two  hundred  slejis,  at 


////:'     .I/)/A(K\7>.IC/k     A'/:(,7(IV. 


43  • 


1     I  111'     iK'St      ,111(1 

Wliitchall    will 
site    HiiiiinL:tiin, 

S,    to  l\t'CS('\  illc. 

UTV  the    tl.Ucl- 

lili's,  wliitii  is  ,: 

:in's,  tlic   tdiiii^t 


^^*' 


lent,  or  so  tmu' 
ifoitalik'  tiucins, 

till'  WililiTiu'ss. 
kl     l\i'csi'\illr    111' 

Ausalili'  I'liasiii, 
und  on  tliis  siili' 

ille  is  BiiniiiiL;- 


nrcnlar    hasin   nl 
iifty  ti'i't    his;li. 

)\vi'i'  and  liii'iH'v, 
wi'tltri'il  l>o\\l(li'i 
-t ream    luanciii's 

>st    i)ciiicniliL'iil;ii' 

inndii'd  sti'|)S,  ;U 


- «  .  .  w-  " 


Walclling    for    Dirci,    on    l^oiii;    Lake 


thr  iiottom  of  wliicli   is  a  narrow  plattorni    ot    rocU    t'onninii 
till'  Moor  ol  (lie  lissnrc. 

I'roni    Kfcscvillc   liie  tiaxcilcr  riilis  \vrst\v;.rd  on  a  toad 
Icadinij    to    Martin's,  on   tlu'    Lower    Saranac.      lie  will   pass 
lor  a  threat   |)art  of  the  way  in  si^hi   of  Whiit'face  Mountain, 
the    great    outpost    of   tiie    Adiiondaeks.      At    the  villaue   of 
Ausalile    I'orks,  about   twelve    miles    from    Kieseville,  he  ean 
turn   otf  into  a   road   whieli   leads  lluoutih   the   famous   White- 
ace  or  \Vilmin<iton    Noteli,  and    ean    reiiain    the    main    load 
aliont   a  dozen  miles  before    it    reaches    Sai  Uiae    Lake.      The 
ilist.uiee  1)\'  this  route  is  not  much  Ioniser  than  h',-  the    main 
road,  and    the    seinery    is     r.i'    i  parahh-    liner.       The  view  of 
Whiteface    from    Wilndntiton    was   |>ronouneed    li\     Professor 
A<.;assiz  to  be  one  ot    the   tnust    n  ;uiiit.iin-\iews  he  had  ever 
seen,  and    (cw    men    were    belter    aciiuainted  with    mountain- 
scener\'  than   j\gassiz.      'rinouiih   the    noteli    Hows   the  Ausa- 
le   River,  with    a    succession    of   i;>i)iils    and    cataracts,  down 
which    is   tloatcd   much  of  the  timber  cut   in  the  Adirondack 
orests    bv   the    hardv  and    adventurous    lu.iibcrcrs,  some    idea 
of    whose    toils    and    dan<iers    ma\'    be    formed 
from     t  .e    sketch    of    "ClearinL;    a    jam,"    the 
scene  of   which    is    at    the   head  of   one    of    the 
falls  of  the  Ausalile,  in  ;he  Wilminsjton   Notch. 
I'^rom     the    villaue    of    Wilmintiton    our    artist 
ascended    Whiteface,    which     is 
second  onh'  to  Tahawus  amon<r 
the  mountains,  its  heijiht   beinj; 
ncarlv  live    thousand    feet.      At 
its  foot,  on   the   southwest    side, 
lies    Lake    Llacid,    one    of    the 
loveliest    lakes   of    the    Wilder- 
ness,    b'rom  this  lake,  which   is 
a    favorite    summer    resort,   one 
of  the  best    views  of  Whiteface 
ean  be  obtained. 

iMdin  Lake  Placid  to  Mar- 
tin's is  a  few  hours'  drive  over 
a  rouiih  but  picturesque  road. 
Martin's    is    a    laioe    and    com- 


Ml- 


f 


;> 


1      '! 


^^^■1 


432 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


rtu*    Indinn    !'■»«. 


fortable  hotel  on  the  very  ocItc 
of   the  Lower   Saranuc,  a  beau- 
tiful   lake,   six    or    seven   miles 
lon^  and  two  miles  wide,  stud- 
ded with  romantic  island:;,  filiv- 
two    in    number.      The  vjanniac 
River   connects  it   with    Round 
Lake,  three   miles   to  the  west- 
ward.     Round    Lake    is    iihout 
two    miles    in    diameter,  and  is 
famous  for  its  storms.     It  is  in 
its     turn     connected    with    the 
njjper    Saranac    Lake    liy   an- 
other   stretch    of     the    Saranac 
River,   on    which    stands    Hait- 
lett's    Hotel,    one    of    the    licst 
and    most     freciuented     of    the 
Adirondack    taverns.      I'mni  a 
l)oint  at  no  prcat  distance  fnun 
the  house,  a    line   view    can   lie 
ohtained    of    l^ounc'     Lake   and 
the  surroundinjr  mountains.    A 
short   "  carry,"  of  a    mile    or  so 
in    lenjith,  conducts  from    Haii- 
lett's    to    the    L^ppci     Saianac, 
whence    it    is   easy    to    pass   in 
iioats    to    St,    Rcfiis    Lake,  nur 
view    of   which    jjives    a    sini;n- 
larlv    ^ood    and    accurate    idea 
of    the    general     characteristics 
of      Adiiondack     scenery.      A 
sliorl    voyajje    in    the    opiitiMtc 
direction  across  the  Ujiper  Sar- 
anac   will     take    the    traveller's 
Itoat     to    the    Indian    can\,   or 
("aiev's    earrv,    as    it     is    mmiu'- 
limes    called,    to    distinjfui^li    it 
from    another    carry,    Sweeny's, 
estiihiished     a     few    years    a^u. 


THE    ADIRONDACK    REGION. 


433 


Bolli  lead  (o  tlu-  Racket  River, 
the  ii'eat   artery  of  the  \V"il(lor- 

IK'SS. 

A    few    hours'    row    clown  ; 

the    l^acket   Ijrin^s   yoii    to   the 
outlet     of      I.akc      Tii|)|)fr,     so 
named,  not  froin    the  author  of 
"  i'roverhial      Philosopliv,"     luit 
from   the   hunter   or  guide  who 
discovered  it.     It   is  several   miles  in 
Icnjrth,    and    contains     manv    pictu- 
ies(iue,    rocky    islands,    covered    with 
evergreens.      At    its    head    the    wild 
and    little-ex|)loii'd   Mog    i^iver  (lows 
inin   the   lake    over    a    romantic   cas- 
cade, which   forms   one  of  the  great 
attractions   of    the    Adirondacks,   be- 
ing a    famous    place    for    trout,   and 
inning    near    hv    one    of    the    most 
jxipular    taverns    of   the    Wilderness, 

cstahlishcd  a  few  years  ago,  and  kept  hy  Mr.  (iraves,  who,  in  iS;:,  while  hunting,  was 
accidentally  killed  by  his  son,  tieiiig  shot  by  Inm  while  aiming  at  a  deer,  with  which  his 
father  was  struggling  in  the  water. 

From  Tapper  Lake  tlu'  route  of  the  traveller  is  up  hog  Kiver,  through  a  series  of 
|i(»nds  and  an  occasional  "carry"  —  where  the  guides  tak'  the  Imals  on  their  backs, 
US  represented  in  our  engraving  -to  Little  Tupper  !-ake.  TheiuH'  a  series  of  ponds 
and  carries  leads  to  Long  Lake,  which,  for  more  than  twenty  niiies,  resembles  a  gieat 
river,  h  is  the  longest  of  the  .Adiiondack  lakes,  though  (here  ate  many  broader  ones. 
I'toni  this  lake  a  line  view  can  be  had  of  Mount  Seward,  fom  thousand  three  himdred 
and  forty-eight  feet  high.  We  give  also  an  illustration  of  the  way  in  which  the  guides 
of  this  region  station  themselves  in  trees  to  watch  for  deer.  The  deer  are  hunted  by 
jMivvcrful    hounds,   which    are  put  on  their  trail    in    the   woods,    and    pursue    them   with 

1M 


.Souii'c    of    tlic    IlmUoll. 


;     1 


r   1, 


i- 


■■«•' "IJS?  ViS^T^ 


434 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


llpakmi'iil    I  iilln 


such  tenacity  that  the  frighlencd 
animal  at  last  takes  to  the  water. 
The  hunters,  with  their  hoats  sta- 
tioned at  intervals  along  the  sliore, 
wateh  patiently  till  the  deer  l)icaks 
from  the  woods  and  plunges  into 
the  water.  The  nearest  iuintcr 
immediately  enters  his  hoat,  gives 
chase,  and  generally  succeeds  in 
overtaking  and  killing  the  game. 

I'rom  J^ong  Lake  to  tiic  In- 
tlian  Pass  is  a  very  rough  joumcv 
through  the  wildest  part  of  the 
Wilderness.  We  give  an  illustra- 
tion which  conveys  some  idia  of 
tlie  kind  of  road  tiie  e.\j)l(irer  who 
ventuies  thither  may  expect  to 
encounter.  He  will  fmd  in  it  ihi' 
source  of  the  Hudson  at  an  ckv.i- 
lion  of  four  thousand  three  hun- 
dred fi'et  above  the  sea.  From 
this  lofty  pool  the  water  llous 
through  I'Vldspar  Brook  into  the 
Opalescent  River,  on  which  there 
is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  cas- 
cades of  the  Ad  rondacks. 

Of  the  scenery  of  the  smirce 
of  the  Hudson,  Mr.  Lossing,  in  his 
"The  Hudson  from  tlii'  \Vil(lenicss 
to  the  Sea,"  writes  as  follows:  "We 
entered  the  rocky  gorge  liclwecn 
the  sleep  slo|)es  of  Mount  Mcln- 
tyre  and  the  clififs  of  W'allface 
Mountain.  There  we  encountered 
enormous  masses  of  rocks,  sortie 
worn  l>y  the  abrasion  of  the  ele- 
ments, some  angular,  sonu"  bare, 
and  some  covered  with  moss,  and 
many   of  ibem    bearing  large  trees, 


THE    ADIRONDACK    REGION. 


435 


the    frightened 
cs   to   the   water. 
their    boats  sta- 
along  the  shore, 
the  deer  l)reaks 
lul    phinges    into 
nearest     luintcr 
;    his   boat,   gives 
illy    succeeds    in 
ling  the  game. 
Lake   to   tlie  In- 
ry   rough  jounicy 
est    part    of    tlie 
give    an    illustra- 
!%   some   idea  of 
the  explorer  wiu, 
may    expect    to 
ill    find   in   it   the 
dson  at  an  eleva- 
isand    lliree    iiiin- 
the    sea.       From 
the    water     Hows 
Brook    into   tlie 
on    which    tliere 
Micturcsijue  cas- 
ndacks. 

V    of   tlie   source 

Lossinp,  in  his 

11  the  Wilderness 

as  follows:  "Wc 

gorge    I  let  ween 

f   Mount    Mcln- 

ffs     of     W'allfacc 

we    encountered 

of    rocks,   some 

sion    of   the    ele- 

liai,    some    lure, 

with    moss,  and 

iiiiig  large  trees, 


,|#*t 


lie    Hudson,    Tw  nty    Miles   from   its   Source. 


whose  roots,  clasping  them  on 
all  sides,  strike  into  the  earth 
for  sustenance.  One  of  the 
masses  presented  a  singular  apjieaiaiice ;  it  is  of  cubic 
form,  its  summit  full  thirty  ieet  from  its  base,  and  upon 
it  was  (|uite  a  grove  of  hemlock  and  cedar  trees.  Around  and  jiarlly  under  this  and 
others  lying  loosely,  apparently  kejit  from  rolling  l)y  roots  and  vines,  we  were  compelled 
to  clamber  a  long  distance,  when  we  reached  a  point  more  than  one  hundred  feet  above 
thi  l)ottom  of  the  gorge,  where  we  could  sie  the  famous  Indian  Pass  in  all  its  wild 
Hiandeur.  Before  us  arose  a  perpendicular  cliff,  ncaily  twelve  lumdred  feet  from  base  to 
summit,  as  raw  in  appearance  as  if  cleft  only  '"sterday.  Above  us  sloped  Mclntyre,  still 
more  lofty  than  the  cliff  of  VVallfaee,  and  in  the  gxrge  lay  huge  piles  of  rock,  chaotic  in 
position,  grand  in  dimensions,  and  awfil  in  general  aspect.  'Ihey  appear  to  'lave  been 
east  in  there  by  some  terrible  convulsion  not  very  remote.  'Ihrough  these  the  waters 
ol  this  branch  of  the  Hudson,  bubbling  fiom  a  spring  not  far  distant  (close  by  a  foun- 
tain of  the  Ausabic),  find  their  way.  Heie  the  bead-waters  of  these  rivers  coiriminglc 
in  the  spring  season,  and,  when  they  sejiarate,  they  find  their  way  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean 
at  points  a  thousanu  miles  apart." 


>  '    I 


1 


I 

;  > 


THE    CONNECTICUT    SHORE    OF    THE    SOUND. 


WITH     ll.l.USTKMloNh     I)V     WIII.IAM     II.     GIBSON. 


,  { 


THE  va^nieness  which  in  inuiiy  minds  attaches  itself  to  the  region  known  as  "  Van- 
kec-land"— which  aljioail  expands  itself  into  a  generic  term  for  the  whole  territory 
of  the  United  States — has,  nevertheless,  its  sharp  lines  of  definition;  and  the  plirasc 
"from  the  Ilndson  to  the  Peiioi)scot "  is  hardly  a  successful  rival,  in  this  respect,  to  tlu' 
more  common  e.\|)ression,  "from  Ouoddy  Head  to  liyram  River."  The  former  of  these 
distinctive  localities  lies  on  the  remote  margin  of  Maine  ;  and  the  latter  is  the  di\  idiiifj 
line  of  Connecticut  and  \ew  York,  on  the  holder  of  Long-Island  Sound.  It  is  at 
Byram  River  that  this  sketch  of  the  Connecticut  shore  of  that  extensive  and  beautiful 
water  begins.  Its  scope  is  the  stretch  of  that  varied  shore  along  the  Sound,  for  a  cen- 
tury of  miles,  with  a  final  slight  digression  to  Norwich,  at  the  head  of  one  of  its  tribu- 
tary rivers. 

The  traveler  by  tiie  Shore-Line  route,  from  New  \'ork  to  Boston,  follovvs  the 
entire  line  of  the  Connecticut  shore  ;  but,  in  the  swift  rush  and  whirl  of  his  fiery  juur- 
nev,  he  can  get  onlv  the  briefi'st  and  most  unsatisfactory  suggestions  of  the  beauty  wiiicii 
lies  all  ai)out,  if  not  cxactlv  along,  his  way.  Its  most  attractive  and  fascinating  asinxts 
aie  not,  ind(M'(l,  in  most  cases,  to  be  seen  without  digression  and  search,  involving  delay, 
and,  here  ami  there,  delightful  excursions.  The  temptations  to  this  delay  are  everywhere 
enhanced  by  the  general  eomfo't  of  the  hotels  at  and  near  the  important  railway- 
stations. 

About  twenty  miks  from  our  great  commercial  metropolis  lies  the  first  station  on 
the  Connecticut  sho>e,  that  of  CTieenwich,  a  verv  attractive  villa.je,  occupying  liiuly- 
wooded  slopes  just  north  of  the  station.  Its  antiquitv  is  ur.'iuestionable  ;  for,  two 
centuries  and  a  quarter  ago,  it  was  designated  bv  the  Dutch-Lnglish  Commission,  in 
convention  at  Hartford,  as  the  western  limit  of  the  province  of  Connecticut,  The  |)rinci- 
pal  lion  of  the  region  is  the  famous  declivity  down  which  the  gallant  Putnam,  of  Riv(j1u- 
tionary  fame,  rode  on  horseback  to  avoid  the  close  fire  of  a  pursuing  troop  of  British 
dragoons,  who,  not  daring  to  follow  him  in  his  "  break-netk  Might,"  were  fain  to  content 
themselves  with  sending  volleys  of  bullets  aft<r  him.  This  spot,  now  called  Old  I'm':- 
Hill,  is  a  long  llight  of  rude  cuttings,  or  steps,  made  in  a  steep  hill-side  for  the  eon- 
venience  of  the  people  in  reaching  a  place  of  worship  on  the  summit  of  the  hill. 

The  village  and  vicinity  of  Stamford  will  well  repay  the  tf)Uiisi  of  ample  leisure  for 
delay  there.  Stamford,  like  the  vignette  village  of  this  portfolio  of  sketches,  claims  a 
notable  anticpiilv  of  origin;  but,  for  a  little  less  than  two  centuries,  it  haci  scarcely  more 
to  be  proud  of  than  a  name.     Within  the  last  forty  years  alone,  it  has  exhibited  vitality. 


known  as  "  \'aii- 
le  whole  tciritorv 
;  and  the  phrase 
liis  respect,  to  the 
ic  former  of  these 
ter  is  the  (Uxidiiijr 
Sound.  It  is  at 
;ivc  and  beautiful 
Sound,  for  a  cen- 

one  of   its  lril)u- 

oston,  folh)vvs  tlie 
I  of  his  fiery  jour- 
f  tlie  beauty  which 
fijscinatin<>;  aspects 
ii,  involvinji  ileiay, 
lav  are  I'verywhcre 
important    railway- 

e    iirst    station    on 

occupying    linely- 

ionable  ;     for,    tun 

4-\    Commission,  in 

.ticut.     The  princi- 

'utnam,  of  Revolii- 

jr  troop  of    Ibitish 

L-re  fain  to  content 

,•  called   Old    i'uiV 

-side    for    the    lon- 

>f  the  hill. 

f  am|)le  leisure  for 

sketches,  claims  a 

ha(i  scarcely  mure 

;  exhibited  vitality, 


l 


i;  •  ;  t 


m 


1 


\  :  1 


Ol.iMHSE3    OK    OHEENWICH,    STAMFORD,     ANU    NORWALK. 


438 


3-  .:"'''^'''' 

PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


^X: 


and,  from  being  a  simple  and  unattractive  hamlet,  it  has  grown  into  beauty  and  impor- 
tance ;  its  hundreds  of  1834  almost  augmented  to  thousands  in  1874.  It  is  a  fovoiite 
resort  of  New -York  merchants,  many  of  whom  have  embellished  its  heights  and  knuils 
with  elegant  mansions  and  villas.  Mucli  taste,  as  well  as  wealth,  is  displayed  in  its  archi- 
tecture, making  its  streets  aad  avenues  attractive.  Shippen  Point,  on  the  Sound,  less  tiian 
a  mile  from  the  station,  is  a  place  of  summer  resort  to  many  hundreds,  who  crowd  the 
spacious  Ocean   House  and  numerous  smaller  places  of  entertainment. 

Close  by  is  one  of  many  ledges  of  rock  which  diversify  the  level  aspect  and  tame- 
ness  of  the  Long-Island  shore.  Found  Rock  stretches  its  dark  ramparts  into  tiie  water, 
and  commands  a  very  fine  view  of  the  Sound  and  its  scenery.  There  are  beautiful  drives 
in  the  adjacent  country,  with,  here  and  there,  pretty  glimpses  on  Mill  River,  "  the  ancient 
Rippowam." 

Epicures  who  are  particular  in  regard  to  the  quality  of  their  oysters  will  have  special 
associations  with  the  name  ot  the  next  important  place  in  our  eastward  progress  along 
the  Connecticut  shore  of  the  So'md.  It  is  Norwalk,  whose  fine,  picturesque  bay  affords 
the  bivalves  in  great  abundance,  and  of  proverbial  excellence.  The  oyster-trade  is  one  of 
tiie  most  flourishing  of  the  industries  of  tiie  now  populous  and  rapidly-growing  town — city, 
perhaps,  we  should  say — of  South  Norwalk  ;  and  the  white  sails  of  the  numerous  oyster- 
smacks  lend  one  of  their  chief  charms  -to  the  prominent  points  of  the  harbor  in  its 
vicinity.  Of  tiiese,  Roton  Point,  so  happily  pictured  by  our  artist,  is  the  resort,  by  emi- 
nence, of  the  festive  parties  from  the  town.  It  is  admirably  ada])ted  for  picnics,  uniting 
extensive  areas  with  line  groups  of  noble  ])ines,  and  these  flanked  by  a  broad  and 
beautiful  beach. 

The  scarcely  less  attractive  picture  of  Wilson's  Point  is  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
harbor,  and  a  little  farther  up  the  Sound.  It  includes  a  glimpse  of  the  Norwalk  Islands. 
Tho  "  Ancient  Lanilmark,"  with  which  the  artist  has  flanked,  on  the  right,  the  ])rcttv, 
nameless  bit  of  moonlight,  is  not  far  from  W'ilson's  Point,  and  stands,  indeed,  upon  the 
grounds  of  the  proprietor  of  that  beautiful  spot.  It  is  believed  to  be  the  chimney 
of  an  old  Revolutionary  huikling  of  iiistoric  interest,  and  the  subject  of  many  legendary 
anecdotes.  It  presents  some  internal  evidence  of  having  been  used  as  a  place  of  conceal- 
ment, perha])s  by  Tories  hiding  from  pursuing  colonists.  Its  preservation  for  so  lonii;  a 
time  in  its  ruined  condition  is  said  to  be  tiie  result  of  government  care,  utilizing  it  as  a 
literal  landmark  to  guide  vessels  over  the  harbor-shoals. 

Norwalk — without  piefix — is  a  twin-town,  on  the  north  side  of  the  railway.  The 
hundredth  anniversary  of  the  burning  of  this  place  by  the  Hessians  will  occur  in  1S79, 
and  afford  the  enterprising  citizens  a  fine  occasion  for  distinguishing  themselves  in  the 
po|mlar  centennial  line  ! 

A  few  miles  east  of  Norwalk,  and  in  the  broad  fields  of  Soutiiport,  there  was,  a 
hundred    years   ago   and    more,  an   extensive    marsh,  known  as  the  Sasco   Swamp,  which 


ii|< 


r-^- 


luty  and  impor- 
It  is  a  favorite 
ights  and  knolls 
yed  in  its  archi- 
Sound,  less  than 
who    crowd   the 

ispect  and  tanie- 
^  into  the  watei, 
i  beautiful  drives 
ver,  "  the  ancient 

will  have  special 
d  progress  along 
jsque  bay  attorcls 
r-trade  is  one  of 
wing  town — city, 
numerous  oyster- 
lie  harbor  in  its 
le  resort,  b\-  enii- 
r  picnics,  uniting 
by    a    broad    and 

)Osite  side  of  the 
Norwalk  Islands, 
right,   the    pretty, 
indeed,  upon   the 
be    the   chimney 
many  legendary 
place  of  conceal- 
in   for  so  lonii;  a 
utilizing  it  as  a 

If  railway.  The 
11  occur  in  1S79, 
lemselves   in   the 

)()rt,  there  was,  a 
o    Swamp,  which 


it','  t 


CiLlMHbES    OK    SOU!  H      NOHVVALIs     AND    .'5OUIHPOHT. 


^^""^^ai 


44a 


PICTURE^lUE 


'lERICA. 


possesses  historic  interest  as  the  scene  of  the  subdual  of  the  Pequot  Indians  by  Ensjlish 
tro<>ps  from  Massachusetts.  There  are,  indeed,  few  points  along  the  shore  of  Connecticut 
about  which  some  antiquarian  interest  does  not  centre  in  memorials  or  legends  of  al)ori- 
ginal  adventures,  battles,  and  defeats. 

Soutliport  bears  to-day  no  trace  of  the  fiery  ravage  to  which  the  Hessian  troops 
under  the  notorious  Tryon,  subjected  it  in  1779,  when  it  shared  the  fate  of  Norwalk,  but 
was  more  fortunate  in  having  poetic  commemoration  of  its 

"...  smoking  ruins,  marks  of  hostile  ire, 
And  ashes  warm,  which  drink  the  tears  that  flow." 

Black  f-iock  is  a  noticeable  village  of  the  township  of  Fairfield,  and  quite  famous, 
both  for  its  very  excellent  harbor  and  for  many  beautiful  prospects  which  characterizu  its 
vicinity, 

Bridgeport,  which  is  reached  on  tiic  railway,  fifty-nine  miles  from  New  York,  de- 
serves more  extended  mention  tiian  the  limits  assigned  to  this  paper  will  allow,  it  is 
finely  situatetl  on  an  arm  of  the  Sound,  where  tiie  l*equannock  River  empties  itself  into 
it.  The  ground  it  covers  was  once  owned  by  the  Paugusset  Indians,  whose  name  is, 
somewhat  apocryphally,  and  very  remotely,  connected  with  the  noble  stream  bearing  the 
musical  name  of  the  Ilousatonic.  In  the  discomfiture  and  flight  of  the  guilty  Pequots 
i)efore  Mason,  the  harmless  Faugussets  were  involved  in  misfortunes  from  which  tliey 
never  recovered. 

Bridgeport  has  been  a  city  about  fort}-  years,  and  has  a  present  estimated  population 
of  more  than  twenty  thousand  souls.  It  is  a  place  of  great  enteiprise  and  thrift  in 
manufactures,  foremost  of  which  are  the  extensive  Sewing-Machine  ^Vorks ;  manufactories 
of  arms,  cartridges,  bras?,  and  steel  wares,  carriages,  and  water-proof  fabrics,  giving  profit- 
able employrptnt  to  thousands,  and  adding  rapidly  to  the  wealth  of  the  place. 

Seaside  Park  is  justly  one  of  Bridge])oit's  lions.  It  is  finely  situated,  looking  over 
the  harbor  and  the  expansive  Sound  beyond.  A  broad  esplanade  affords  attractive  walks 
and  drives  on  the  beach. 

Few,  if  any,  Xew-I^ngland  cities  have  a  more  beautiful  street  than  Biidgepoii  can 
show  in  its  Ciolden  Hill,  a  long  line  of  elegance,  taste,  and  wealth  in  private  dwellings. 

Three  miles  eastward  of  the  city  lies  old  and  picturesque  Stratford,  where  the  new 
has  not  yet  disjilaced  the  old,  where  the  racket  of  mills  and  machinery  does  not  vex 
the  ([uiet-Ioving  ear,  or  harrow  the  nerves  of  the  sensitive  ;  and  where  one  may  dream 
away  a  sweet  summer  twilight  in  the  shadows  of  grand  old  trees,  more  ancient  even 
than  the  quaint  but  stately  houses  of  the  village.  These  fine,  ancient  elms  make  up, 
together  with  broad  reaches  of  the  stately  Housatonic  River,  the  noblest  aspects  of  Strat- 
ford. Its  light-house  is  of  a  quaint  style  of  architecture,  matching  well  the  primitiveness 
of  the  place,  which,  however,  is  not  utterly  antiipiated.     The  old  churcii,  of  which  Adam 


ians  by  English 

of  Connecticut 

:gends  of  al)oii- 

Hessian   troops 
of  Norwalk,  but 


(I   tiuite    famous, 
li  characterize  its 

New  York,  ck-- 
vill  allow.  It  is 
mptics  itself  into 
;,  whose  name  is, 
cam  bearing  the 
ic  guilty  Pequots 
from   which  they 

mated  population 
isc  ami  thrift  in 
ks ;  manufactories 
•ics,  giving  jirofit- 

1)1  ace. 

ted,  looking  over 
s  attractive  walks 

Bridge])oii  can 
)rivate  dwellings. 

where  the  new 
cry  does  not  vex 

one  may  dream 
ore    ancient   even 

elms   make  up, 

aspects  of  Strat- 
the  primitivencss 

of  which  Adam 


■ 

CONNECTICUT    SHORE    bv_-  NES. 


Iff 


rrr 


,  i 


PIC  rURESQUE    AMERICA. 

Blackman  was  pastor  in  the  dim  colonial  days,  has  now  a  handsome  thoupfh  rural  Gothic 
house  of  worship,  in  striking  contrast  to  the  old,  quaint  sanctuary  of  its  early  devotions. 

Five  miles  from  Stratford,  eastward,  on  the  railway,  and  across  the  b -oad  bosom  of 
the  llousatonic,  we  come  to  Milford,  picturesque  with  stately,  shadowing  elms,  and  a 
most  setluetive  length  of  green  neatly  inclosed.  Here  flows  the  silvery  Wap-o-w  auij, 
giving  the  railway-]ias?enger  free  transit  over  its  clear  waters  by  a  pretty  bridge  and 
bosky  banks.  Here,  too,  is  a  tall  monument,  l)uilt  over  the  remains  of  many  soldiers, 
cast  ashore  here  from     yritisii  cartel-ships,  in   1777. 

A  railway  strctcii  of  seven  miles  i)rings  the  tourist  to  West  Haven,  where  he  may 
well  miss  a  train,  if  only  to  indulge  himself  in  a  pleasant  stroll  to  Savin  Rock.  It  is  a 
walk  of  twenty  minutes,  and  rewarded,  at  its  close,  with  beautiful  jirospects  over  the 
Sound  and  shore  alike. 

Tile  City  of  I'^lms  is  now  close  at  hand,  and  there  is  much  in  New  Haven  to 
interest  the  intelligent  visitor — very  much,  indeed,  of  which  this  sketch  can  take  no  cog- 
nizaiici'.  Its  grand  avenues  of  elm-trees  are  certainly  unsurpassed  in  New  England;  and 
the  one,  es|ieciallv,  which  separates  the  beautiful  and  attractive  Green  from  the  gromids 
of  Vale  College,  is  a  great  Gothic  aisle  of  such  interlacing  boughs,  and  such  interwoven 
masses  of  rich,  green,  and  sun-gilded  foliage,  as  would  surely  have  either  ins|)iied  or 
paiahzed  the  facile  |)encil  of   Birket   Foster. 

New  Haven  has  a  po|)ulati<)n  of  over  fifty  thousand,  and  the  city  is  not  more  attractive 
for  its  ])ietines(iueness  than  it  is  for  its  intellectual  culture  and  social  refinement.  These 
characteristics  are  doubtless  due,  in  great  part,  to  the  influence  of  Vale  College,  wliieh, 
in  its  rial  comprehiMisiveness  of  scojjc,  in  the  number  of  its  departments,  and  in  the 
richness  of  its  educational  accessories,  more  nearly  approaches  the  order  of  a  tiiie  uni- 
versity than  anv  other  institution  in  the  United  States,  that  at  Cambridge  alone  e.\ce|)ted. 
It  was  founiled  in  1700,  'nd,  for  now  almost  two  eventful  centuries,  has  e.xerted  a 
widely-diffused  and  beneficent  influence  ujion  American  character  and  development. 

Only  two  vears  ago.  New  Haven  divided  with  Hartford  the  legislative  "honors  "of 
Connecticut,  Init  now  her  chief  and  sullicient  distinction  is  her  noble  and  expansive 
college. 

Numerous  converging  and  intersecting  railways,  extensive  manufactures,  and  a  con- 
siderable West-India  commerce,  contribute  to  the  life  and  wealth  of  this  beautiful  city 
Its  suburbs  are  adorned  with  tasteful  villas,  and  afford  inviting  drives  and  charming  pros- 
pects. Of  |)rincipal  interest  among  its  suburban  attractions  are  the  crags  known  as 
East  and  West  i^ocks — two  bold  and  striking  bluffs  of  trap-rock,  lifting  themselves,  in 
magnificent  array  of  o|)position,  about  four  hundred  feet  out  of  the  plain  which  skirts 
the  city.  Their  geological  origin  was  probably  some  anomalous  volcanic  convulsion ;  and 
their  grim  heights  may  have  sentinelled,  in  remote  ages  of  our  planet,  the  flow  ol  the 
Connecticut  River  between  their  august  feet  to  the   Sound.      Their   summits    afford   \tr)' 


gh  rural  Gothic 
jarly  devotions. 
I' oad  bosom  of 
ng  elms,  and  a 
ry  Wap-o-wau^r, 
ctty  bridge  and 
r   many  soldiers, 

wliere  he  niav 
1  Rock.  It  is  a 
ispccts    over   tiic 

New  Haven  to 
;an  take  no  eojr. 
w  luiglanii ;  and 
oiii  the  grounds 
such  interwoven 
ither    inspired   or 

ot  more  attractive 
linement.  Tiiese 
J  College,  which, 
cnts,  and  in  the 
r  of  a  true  uni- 
e  alone  exee|)tcd. 
;,  has  exerted  a 
■velojiment. 
tivc  "  honors"  nf 
e    and    expansive 

ines,  and  a  eon- 
lis  beautiful  city. 
1(1  ciiarming  prns- 

crags  known  as 
ng  themselves,  in 
)lain  which  skirts 
convulsion ;  and 

,  the  flow  o;  the 
units    afford    \er)' 


> 


:f 


¥\ 


If 


n 


SCENES     IN     BRXDCtEPORT,     STRATFORD,     AND     MILFORD. 


!      :|)! 


AAA. 


P/C TURESi^  „  ^    AMERICA. 


'■■  I'-J 


fine  but  quite  dissimilar  prospects.  East  Rock  overlooks  the  ample  interval  and  river- 
reaches  of  the  Quinnip-ac  Valley,  which  arc  almost  hidden  from  West  Rock.  The  view 
of  the  beautiful  city  from  East  Rock  has  afforded  to  the  ])cncil  of  our  artist  rare  scope 
for  boldness,  amid  the  average  level  of  the  landscape."  The  cliffs  are  rough,  and  difficult 
to  climb,  but  they  well  repay  the  toil  of  surmounting  them,  while,  from  the  top  of 
either,  the  spectator  may  stretch  his  vision,  and  feel,  with  the  poet — 

"  What  heed  I  of  the  dusty  land, 
And  noisy  town? 
I  see  the  mighty  deep  expand, 
From  its  white  hne  of  glimmering  sand, 
To  where  the  blue  of  heaven  over  bluer  waves  shuts  down." 

On  East  Rock  there  is  a  little  inn,  where  the  weary  pilgrim  may  obtain  refresh- 
ment in  summer.  While  this  rocky  crest  is  more  easily  accessible  than  the  other,  and 
certainly  bears  the  palm  in  breadth  of  view,  the  West  Rock  has  the  counterbalance  to 
these  advantages  of  a  positive  historic  charm  in  the  shape  of  the  I^'gicides'  or  Jut'ges' 
Cave.  In  a  deep  cleft,  among  a  wild  group  of  large,  loose  bowldcis,  the  famous  regi- 
cides Goffe  and  Whalley  were  concealec.  for  several  days,  in  1661.  This  cave  is  reached 
by  a  difficult  jiath  over  the  rocky  table  of  the  cliff.  The  legend  is,  that  the  regicides 
were  frightened  out  of  this  inhospitable  place  by  the  glittering  eyes  of  some  wild  anim;d 
glaring  in  upon  them. 

The  water-su])pl5'  of  i  v  is  pent  up  on  West  Rock,  in  a  lake    having   a   sujjcr- 

ficies  of  seventy-five  acres,  and  formed  by  an  extensive  dam  of  rock  and  earthwork. 
The  water-works  are  planted  near  the  foot  of  the  rock,  and  close  at  hand  is  Maitliy 
Park,  a  tract  of  eight  hundred  acres,  most  tastefully  laid  out,  and  in  the  course  of  ele- 
gant embellishment. 

The  view  of  the  city  from  Fort  Hill,  which  is  included  in  the  accompanying  series 
of  illustrations,  is  a  picture  which  well  rewards  the  visitor  for  an  excursion  to  the  itoint 
in  question,  which  was  once  the  site  of  an  old  fortification,  of  which,  however,  few  truces 
remain.  The  corner  vignettes  of  this  beautiful  |)icture  have  all  found  some  mention  in 
the  text,  as  objects  and  points  of  great  interest.  The  meadows,  or  plains,  whieli  lie 
northward  of  the  city,  and  out  of  which  the  great  ranges  of  trap-rock  vault,  as  it  were, 
into  the  sky,  are  well  pictured  at  the  bottom  of  the  artistic  page. 

The  railway  reach  of  fifty  miles,  from  New  Haven  to  New  London,  is  less  attractive 
in  picturesque  elements  than  the  same  distance,  which  this  sketch  has  already  overpassed, 
from  Greenwich  to  New  Haven.  There  arc  not  wanting,  however,  points  of  historic 
interest;  and  the  whole  region  has  attractions  to  those  who  love  boating  and  fishing, 
Fairhaven  oysters  have  a  fame  of  their  own. 

Branford  and  Guilford,  eight  and  sixteen  miles  respectively  from  New  Haven,  have 
their   beaches;   and  numerous  hotels  invite  summer  guests  to  the  enjoyment   of  delicious 


itcrval  and  river- 
Ruck.  The  view 
artist  rare  sco|)e 
ugh,  and  dilTicult 
rom   the   top  of 


ly  obtain  rcfresh- 
m  the  other,  and 
:ounterbalancc  to 
icides'  or  Judges' 
the  famous  regi- 
s  cave  is  readied 
hat  the  regicides 
iome  wild  animal 

having  a  super- 
:    and    earthwork. 

hand  is  Malihy 
e   course   of  cle- 

ampanying  series 
iion  to  the  point 
wever,  (ew  traces 
some  mention  in 
plains,  which  lie 
vault,  as  it  were, 

is  less  attractive 
ready  overpassed, 
)oints  of  historic 
ting   and    tisiiing.      ■  ^.-|fi:  .         ^  ,^^ 

lew  Haven,  have 
lent   of  delicious 


f- 


r^ 


M 


iar" 


•«• 


♦   i%*, 


V 


i    ' 


i    i 


nRHB 


•v.. 


C 


■■^iciv^: 


# 


j^^ 


--•^^:-  • 


*^ 


1  .-''i  « 


.•^• 


;i-^- 


n 


n 


♦ ' 


r      '   !■ 


446 


PICTURESQUE    AMERIC. I. 


liicczes,  witli   l);illiin<i-    and    lioatinjr    at    pleasure.      (iiiiltbid    is    both    the    l)irtli    ami   liini.il 
|)lace   of  llie   jioet    I  lalleck,  althoimli    lie   spent    imieh   ot   his   lile   in    N\\v    \'()ik. 

The  alxiriiiinal  history  and  traditions  of  this  region,  and,  indeed,  u\'  all  tlu'  Connecti- 
cut   shore    of    Long -Island    Soinid,   are    lull    (jf   interest    to    the    antiipiarian    and    student. 


riic   \i«  Much    l.lnis 


I        ' 


(iiiilford   sh.iies  wilh    New   Haven   the   fame  of  having   given    shelter   for   a   season   to  ilu 
regicides. 

Fk'twccn  Mninford  and  Ciiiilford  lies  Stonv  ('reck,  a  railwav-station,  from  whiih  a 
pleasant  excuision  may  he  made  to  the  'Ihimhle  Ishinds,  a  pietiires(|uc  group  of  roeky 
and   wooded  islets.      The    names    of   Monev   and    I'ut,   lielonging    to    two    of  this    cluster, 


l>irlli    anil    luirinl 

York. 
ill  tlio  ('onnfLti- 
an    and    sliulciit. 


'iA 


^1 


htSS 


i\   'Reason   to  iln 
II.  Imni  wiiiili  .1 

jri(in|(    (il     Kukv 

ol    this   cluster, 


^  \i 


i    ! 


!  t 


NEW     HAVEN,     VIEW      HloM     EAS I      HDi    K 


448 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


■     . 

1- 

may  well  suggest  to  the  reader  the  legends  of  Captain  Kidd  and  his  hidden  treasures; 
and  these  localities  have  again  and  again  tempted  the  cupidity  of  deluded  diggers. 

The  old  and  quaintly  rural  village  of  Saybrook  lies  thirty  miles  east  from  New  Ha- 
ven, and,  just  beyond  it,  the  Connecticut  River  flows  into  the  Sound.  Beyond  the  Con- 
necticut, eastward,  lie  the  villages  of  Lyme,  three  of  the  name,  and  also  of  VVatcrford, 
covering  a  reach  of  seventeen  miles  to  the  banks  of  the  Thames  River  at  New  London. 
All  this  tract  was  once  the  home  and  hunting-grounds  of  the  Niantic  Indians,  a  Xarra- 
ganset  clan,  whose  somewhat  renowned  sachem,  Ninigret,  defeated  the  Long-Island  tribes. 

New  London,  less  attractive,  perhaps,  than  either  Bridgeport  or  New  Haven,  is 
nevertheless  a  pleasant  town.  It  has  great  facilities  for  traffic  and  communication  both 
by  land  and  water,  railways  and  steam'ioats  connecting  it  with  New  York,  and  \aiious 
iron  ways  leading  out  of  it  to  the  north  and  east. 

The  Fequot  House,  which  is  ])icturesquely  situated  on  the  Harbor  road,  aboul  two 
miles  from  the  city,  and  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  is  one  of  the  most  fashionaljle 
summer  resorts  along  the  shore.  It  is  surrounded  by  quite  an  extensive  .settlement  of 
pretty  cottages,  rented  for  the  fashionable  season  to  families  from  the  cities  ;  and  upon 
the  opposite  shore  of  the  Tliames  are  also  abundant  accommodations  for  summer  uuests, 
though  of  a  little  lower  rate  of  expense,  if  not,  perhaps,  of  real  comfort. 

The  barb  >r  of  New  London  is  defended  by  two  forts,  which,  in  these  times  of 
peace,  frown  only  at  each  other  from  opposite  sides  of  the  river.  Fort  Trumbull  is  a 
massive  granite  structure  on  the  west  shore,  and  in  perfect  condition  ;  while  Fort  (iris- 
wold,  on  the  eastern  side,  is  little  more  than  the  remnant  of  old  earthworks,  of  historic 
interest,  although  theie  is  very  near  it  a  well-constructed  twenty-gun  battery,  in  uxiod 
condition. 

Around,  or  rather  iieneath,  the  latter,  spreads  the  village  of  Groton,  once  a  suburb 
of  New  London,  and  now  closely  connected  with  it  by  steam  ferries,  at  one  of  wiiich 
the  trains  of  the  Shore-Line  loute  are  trans|iorted  bodily  across  the  river.  Groton  is  a 
centre  of  historic  and  revolutionary  memories.  The  tourist  should  make  an  excursion  to 
the  ruins  of  I'ort  Griswold,  the  scene  of  the  infamous  murder  of  Colonel  Le(hani, 
with  his  own  sword,  by  the  Tory  ollicer  to  whom  he  had  honorably  surieiulered  it. 

Near  by  is  the  monument  erected  in  memory  of  the  soldiers  who  were  massacred 
in  that  surrender.  It  is  a  granite  obelisk,  nearly  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet  high,  and. 
besides  its  commemorative  tablets,  it  possesses  the  charm  of  such  a  broad  and  various 
view  IVoin  its  summit  as  one  can  hardly  afford  to  mis'.  in  a  level  region,  and  one.  in- 
deed, which  is  not  surpassed  along  the  s.iores  of  the  sound.  It  realizes  fairlv  the  pod's 
picture  of  the  height  — 


'Ir 


'  Wlicrc  Hiis  wide  WundcrinK  for  llio  (jrccdiL'st  eye, 
I'o  |)ccr  .il)()ul   upnn  vaiitty  ; 
l-iir  round  tin   horizon's  (r>sl.jl  air  to  skim. 
And  lr.)i('  the  dwindling  edges  of  its  brim." 


idden    treasures ; 

1  diggers, 
from  New  11  a- 
eyond  tlic  Con- 

0  of   Watcrloicl, 

>h|^^ 

t  New  London. 

■^jjg^MMtM 

ndians,  a  Narra- 

^B^n^fl 

)ng-Island  tribes. 

fll 

New    Haven,  is 

municalion    both 

"^"^i^^^^^i  ^^H 

ork,  and  various 

r'^^^MJ^H  ^^1 

road,  about  two 
most  fashionable 
ve  settleinent  of 
cities  ;  and  upon 
r  summer  uucsts, 

1  these  times  of 
rt  Trumbull  is  a 
while  Fort  Clris- 
■vorks,  of  historic 
battery,   in  jrood 

»n,  once  a  subud) 
at  one  of  which 
er.  (Iroton  is  a 
an  excursion  to 
CoUmel  Ledyard, 
rrendercd  it. 
()  were  mas'^acrcd 
tv  feet  hijud),  and, 
iroad  and  various 
rion,  and  one,  in- 
s  fairlv  tlie   |»ict's 


J  . 


NEW     LONDON     ANU     NORWICH. 


-ry 


'•»«'  if 


I: 


1 


450 


PICTURESQUE    .  IMERIU.  I. 


This  jioiiil  atfoicls  the  finest  view  of  the  eity,  as  well  as  of  the  l)eautifLil  harbor  of  Ww 
Loiuloii.  Tile  cit\',  joiiitlv  witli  tlie  State  of  Connecticut,  recently  ^ave  to  the  riiiicd 
States  a  tract  of  land  on  the  east  hank  of  the  Thames,  where  a  navy-yard  is  established, 
It  borders  the  widenin<^  reaches  of  the  river  about  the  vilhiire  of  (jroton. 

At  New  London,  the  tourist  who  follows  the  course  of  this  rapid  sketch  will  luive 
to  make  a  sli<rlil  departure  from  the  strict  shore-line  of  the  sound,  takinjr,  if  he  phases, 
the  railway,  or,  better  still,  a  charming  ilrive  to  Norwich,  thirteen  miles  along  the  wrst 
bank  of  the  picturescjue  Thames. 

lie  ma\  lin.gei,  if  lie  will,  a  little  while  at  Mohegan,  live  miles  south  of  NmuiLh, 
where,  upon  the  highest  land  in  the  village,  stands  the  ancient  fortress  of  l/ncas.  I  kie, 
also,  he  nia\-  see  scjme  remnants  of  the  once  famous  tribe  which  that  brave  but  treacher- 
ous chief  led  so  often  on  the  war-path.  It  may,  indeed,  be  better  that  he  should  not 
encounter  these  degenerate  sons  of  the  forest  —  half-breeds  at  the  best — unless  hi'  is  pii- 
paied  to  resign  all  his  romantic  a'ld  poetical  impressions  of  the  lofty  heroism  and  ^\>\vn- 
did  (pialities  of  the  aboriginal  retl-men  of  the  New-Fngland  forests  and  hills.  Thtie  :s 
nothing  in  the  present  aspect  of  the  Peijuot  or  Mohegan  remnants  to  aitl  him  in  the 
maintenance  of  his  okl  and  it   may  be  obstinately  cherished  fancies. 

Norwich  is  a  laruer  and  liner  city  than  its  neighbor.  New  London,  anil  of  a  veiv 
romantic  aspect,  much  of  the  town  being  l)uilt  on  terraces,  lying  between  the  \:\nik 
and  Shetucket  Rivers,  which,  bv  their  conHuence  there,  make  the  'I'hames.  It  has  nallv 
nobk'  axenues,  with  line  trees,  antiipie  and  moilern  mansions,  anil  very  handsome  public 
buildings. 

The  monument  of  I 'tie  is  is  a  prime  object  of  anti(|uariaii  interest  in  the  city.  It 
is  a  granite  obelisk,  standing  in  the  midst  of  other  memorial  stonis  built  to  eonimenii)- 
rate  the  ferocious  exploits  of  immemorial  chieftains  and  warriors  of  the  Mohegans.  I'li- 
cas  was  once  a  great  sachem  of  the  I*e(|uots,  but  he  became  afterward,  bv  revolt  and 
secession,  the  most  renowned  leader  of  the  Mohegans  for  liftv  years,  dining  which  period 
he  elesated  them  in  point  of  inlluence,  and  held  thi^m,  m  spile  of  manv  wars  with  ntlui 
tribes,  to  peaceful  relations  with  the  colonists.  The  monument  to  I'ncas  was  hiiili  in 
1841.  A  cluster  of  gloomy  pine-trees  infolds  this  Indian  cemeteiv,  not  far  from  the  sitf 
of  the  once  highly  picturesijue  falls  of  the  \'antic,  which,  however,  lia\e  dwindled  giratly 
from  their  old  renown  under  the  encroachment  of  both  natural  and  artificial  changes,  so 
that  the  tourist  is  puzzled  to  account  for  the  enthusiasm  which  insjiired  the  early  pints 
an<l  to|)ographeis  in  their  praises  of  the  wild,  tumulliious  lapse  of  the   N'anlic. 

The  glimiise  which  the  artist  has  given  of  Norwich,  in  the  line  general  view  and 
in  the  dainty  side-scenes  which  accompany  it,  are  lit  suggestions  of  th-  i)ictures(|ueniss 
of  its  ways  and  of  its  roi'^antie  environs,  much  relieved  from  the  oppressive  miinntony 
of  the  more  level  shore  along  which  this  sketch  has  been  compelled,  by  the  re(|uiri'- 
mcnts  of  ..r'.  to  run. 


^^. 


liarhor  of  Ww 
0  to  the  riiital 
iicl  is  estal)li'^llL■^l, 


# 


LAKE    MEMPHREMAGOG 


WITH       ILLUSTRATIONS       1!  V       J.      UOIM.I.AS       \V  ( )  O  1 )  W  A  R  IJ  . 


^' 


)Uth  of  Norwich, 
of  Uncas.  1  k  re 
rave  but  triaclu'r- 
;it  1k'  should  lH>t 
-unless  he  i^'  |)rt'- 
eroism  and  splen- 
id  hills.  There  is 
aid    him    in   tlie 

n,  and    of  a    very 

twi'en    tlie  ^'antic 

nes.     It  lias  realh' 

handsome    |Hihlic 

st   in  tiie  eilv.     It 

uill   to  eommemo- 

•  Molu'fians.     I'li- 

ird,  1)V   revolt    ami 

rintr  whieh  |ieriu(l 

V  wars  witli  oihci 

ncas   was    huili    in 

t   far  from  llie  site 

e  dwindled  i:reatly 

tilicial  chanjics.  so 

ed  the  early    jioets 

\' antic. 

jjeneral  view  ami 
h-  pictuiesi|iuiuss 
|iressive  nionotonv 
cd,  l>v  the   re(|uire- 


Owl's    Head    I.aivling. 

T\l\l  journey  northward  may  be  made  in  thirty-six  hours,  or  it  mav  be  exti'ndcd 
throuRh  several  weeks.  The  route  from  the  melrojiolis  divider  the  Conneelieut 
\'allev,  that  fair  reach  of  <>iistenin,u:  stream  and  forest  dell  leadint;  beyond  into  moimlain 
mv^ti'ries.     Nature  wears  iier  bridal   robes,  sofll\    colored,  fragrant,  and   brigiit  — 


IS'i 


f. 


452  PJCTURESQUE    AMERICA. 

"  First  a  lake, 
Tinted  with  sunset  ;    next,  the  wavy  Hncs 
Of  the  far-reachinj;  hills ;    and  yet  more  far, 
Monadnock  liftin);  from  his  night  of  pines 
His  rosy  forehead  to  the  evening  star." 

Voii  may  start  out  from  your  city  home  for  Momplircmago^  direct  :  l)Ut,  in  siul)  a 
path-way  as  leads  throu<il\  the  valley,  you  will  linger,  inhaliiir  the  hriath  of  the  ilaisv- 
sceiited  fields,  resting  the  wearied  mind  with  the  trantjuil  sentiment  of  the  Arcadian  liff 
that  dreams  in  the  brook-side  villages  on  \uur  way.  Grander  scenes  there  may  l)e,  luit 
the)-  o|)press  and  tire  us,  and  we  come  back  to  the  Connecticut  \'alley  year  after  war, 
loving  it  the  more,  and  deriving  from  it  the  solace  that  empowers  us  for  renewed  loll 
at  the  treadmill  of  city  life.  Loitering  in  these  |)astures  a  while,  we  arrive  at  tln'  lodt 
of  Lake  Memi)hremagog  in  a  fit  state  of  mind  to  appreciate  its  beauties,  not  so  drowsv 
and  fagged-out  as  we  should  be  had  our  journey  been  iml)roken.  We  disemi)aik  al  ihc 
little  X'ermont  town  of  Newport  ;  submit  t)urselves  to  tlic  regimen  of  a  fashion  ilijc 
hotel  ;  sleep  well,  and  liream  of  peace.  'l"he  morning  breaks  on  a  biacing  day  in  the 
.season  of  Nature's  most  gorgeous  transformation  ;  the  autumn  foliage  is  crowned  with 
the  richest  hues  ;  our  fellow-tourists  have  less  of  the  jaded  e.\i)iession  that  is  almost 
habitual  on  their  features,  and  so  al'  circumstances  are  propitious  for  our  voyage  over 
the  lake. 

Some  peo|)le  tell  us  that  it  rivals  Lake  George,  but  this  atlmits  of  difference  of 
opinion  ;  \et  it  is  almost  im|)ossible  that  there  should  be  an\'  thing  more  pictiiies<|ik',  in 
the  exact  sense  of  that  word,  than  this  beautiful  expanse  with  liie  awkward  name.  1(  i-. 
overshadowed  by  nK)untains  and  i)ordered  by  dense  forests  and  grassy  reaches.  .\t  onf 
jioint  it  is  in  Lower  Canada,  and  at  another  in  Northern  \'ermoiit.  It  is  thirty  miles  loi.ir 
and  two  miles  wide;  the  basin  that  holds  it  is  tlcep  and  narrow;  numerous  islands  sprint; 
from  its  de|)ths,  where  speckietl  trout,  of  ent)rmous  size,  dart  and  glimmer.  These  thini;s 
are  imparted  to  us  by  an  old  resident,  a  freckled,  long-facetl,  discoursive  down-easttr,  a-- 
our  white  steamer  leaves  her  wharf  near  the  hotel  and  sjieeds  toward  the  other  end  ol 
the  lake.  There  is  one  object  alrcadv  in  sight  that  we  have  been  instructed  not  to  miss 
— the  Owl's  Head,  a  mount, lin  surpassing  others  around  the  lake  in  form  and  si/e.  But 
it  is  yet  twelve  miles  distant,  and  in  the  mean  time  our  eves  and  binocular  glassi>  arc 
attracted  by  many  other  enchantments  that  the  shore  sets  forth. 

Here  is  a  narrow  cape  jutting  out,  the  shimmering  rijipies  tossing  in  |)lay  anuind; 
and  yonder  llie  land  inclines  into  two  bavs,  one  of  tiiem  :  heltering  the  boats  of  Mime 
lazy  boys,  who  are  stretched  on  the  tiiwarts,  with  their  vagabond  faces  raised  to  llu  un- 
clouded sun.  'I'he  shore  varies  in  character:  for  a  mile  it  is  high  and  craggy,  and  liicn 
the  banks  are  low  and  rolling,  girt  bv  a  belt  of  yellow  sand.  The  deep  water  n  adily 
imprints  the  colors  on  its  smooth  surface,  and  du|)licates  the  forms  of  earlli  and  >kv. 
Past   Indian   PoinI    there  is  a  small  village,  and  farther  on  are  the  Twin   Sisters,  twn   lair 


^\  i 


in  play  anuind; 

lioats   (if  Miiiic 

raisrd  to  tlu'  un- 

ciafrfxy.  11"''  ''''^■" 

fi'p  water  n  adily 

f   earth    anil    '■IvV. 

Sisters,  twn   lair 


!  T 


{■' 


LAKE     MEMHHHEMAGOG,     SOU  IH      KHUM     OWL^     HhAU 


454 


I'lCTL  RESO Ur.    .  / MliRlL  A. 


■*ri» 


islands,  thickly  wooded  with  a  jiiowlli  of  cvcrpecns.  Beyond  we  see  anotiicr  \illanc, 
and  S(jon  \vc  are  abreast  of  Province  Island,  a  cultivated  jfarden  t)f  one  hundred  acres. 
Nearer  the  eastern  shore  is  Tea-Table  Island,  a  charminjij  little  sj)ot  with  man)-  ced.ir- 
groves,  whence  cometh  the  pleasant  laujrhter  of  a  picnic-party,  whose  fancifull)-j)aiiit( d 
rowboats  are  moored  to  a  little  jetty. 

Now  wc  bid  farewell  to  our  native  heath,  and  enter  British  waters,  with  British  soil 
to  the  rifrht  and  to  the  left  of  us.  There  are  many  farm-houses  on  the  banks,  wliiic- 
painted,  and  dazzling  in  the  sunlight,  it  is  a  national  duty  for  those  of  us  who  are  Inc- 
born  iVmericans  to  observe  that  the  houses  in  the  Canadian  territory  are  sloven!\  md 
uncared  for,  without  the  evidences  of  prosjjcrity  and  Ilirift  that  ajijjcar  in  those  sitiiucd 
on  our  own  soil.  But  lei  us  confess  that  the  scenery  of  the  lake  does  not  diniinisli  in 
beauty.  There  arc  no  marsh-lands  near  its  shore,  and  no  stagnant  pools.  The  banks  ww 
invariably  picturesque,  almost  invariably  fertile  and  under  cultivation.  Here  is  Whelsidiic 
Island,  so  nametl  by  some  enterprising  Yankees,  who  used  the  stone  found  in  the  neigh- 
borhood for  a.xe-grinding,  until  her  majesty's  government  decided  that  they  were  trespass- 
ers, and  drove  them  away.  A  little  farther  in  our  course  lies  Magoon's  Point,  a  grassv 
slope  coming  to  the  water's  edge;  and  yonder  is  a  cavern  with  a  legend.  Perhaps  \()ii 
who  have  seen  so  many  caverns  with  legends  begin  to  regard  all  of  them  with  susj)ici(in; 
but  this  one  and  its  legend  are  veiitable.  Some  marauders  have  secreted  somewiierc 
in  the  innermost  recesses  of  one  of  the  rocks  a  treasure-chest  of  iinmensc  value,  stolen 
from  a  Roman  Catholic  cathedral.  There  is  no  doubt  about  it.  The  freckled,  long-faced 
down-easter  has  seen,  with  his  own  shaij)  eyes,  two  massive  gold  candlesticks  that  were 
found  within  a  yard  or  two  of  the  entrance  ! 

\Ve  are  fast  nearing  Owl's  Head.  The  boat  winds  in  and  out  between  the  cedar- 
robed  islands,  and  the  golden  haze  vani'^hes  into  the  clear  and  breezy  day.  We  do  not 
land  during  the  journey  down  the  lake,  but  pass  Owl's  Head,  with  onlv  a  glim|)se  at  it-- 
magnificent  height.  We  also  speed  by  Round  Island,  cap-like  in  shape;  Minnow  Island, 
the  most  famous  fishing-jilace,  where  some  anglers  are  now  stationed  underneath  tlu'  leafv 
boughs  ;  and  Skinner's  Island,  once  the  haunt  of  an  intrepid  smuggler,  who  snap|)ed  his 
fingers  in  the  face  of  custom-house  officers,  and  whose  audacity  has  l)een  chronicled  in 
many  a  rhymed  .story.  North  of  Skinner's  Cave  is  Long  Island,  covering  an  area  of 
about  a  square  mile,  with  a  rugged  shore.  At  one  jilace  the  shore  is  almost'  |)erpen- 
dicular,  and  on  the  southern  side  there  is  an  extraordinary  granite  bowlder,  balanced  on 
a  natural  pedestal,  named  Balance  Rock.  Hereabout,  too,  are  the  villas  of  some  wealtliv 
Montreal   mi'ichants,  enclosed  in  magnificent  parks  on  the  banks. 

Owl's  Head  is  the  most  prominent  mountain,  and  is  cone-shaped.  But,  in  our  pas- 
sage to  the  head  of  tlu-  lake,  we  see  (Jther  heights  that  do  not  fall  far  below  it. 
Here  is  Mount  I{le[)hantus,  now  faintlv  resembling  an  elephant's  back,  afterward  champ- 
ing, as  we  proceed  f'.rther  north,  into  a  horseshoe  form.      The   water  deepens  ;   soundings 


r'lth  liritisli  soil 
3    banks,  wliitr- 
s  who  arc  Iiit- 
•e  slovenly   ami 
liiosc  situalcd 
lot   diminish    in 
The  hanks  arc 
c  is  WhclsidiK' 
(1  in  the  nciiih- 
y  were  trespass- 
Point,  a    yrassy 
Perha|)s   vciii 
with  sus|)ieiiiii; 
.'ted    soinewluii' 
ISC  value,  stolen 
;kled,  lontj-faLed 
ticks  that    were 

veen  the    cedar- 

y.      NV'e  do  not 

1  .u^liinpse  at  it'- 

Minnow  Island. 

neath  the  KalV 

ho  snajjped    his 

n  chronicled  in 

iiii'   an  area   of 

almost'   |)erpen- 

cr,  halaneed  on 

)f  some  wcaltliy 

iut,  in  our  pas- 
far  below  it. 
fterward  chauij:- 
eiis  ;    soundings 


LAKE     MEMPHHEMAGOG.     NOHl  H     FEtOM     OVVLS     HEAD. 


!'  i| 


1% 


VW 


VI 


li    :        t 


1:1 


456 


P/C Ti UiESO UH    AiMERIC.l. 


show  three  lumciied  feet  near  Gihraltar  Point,  where  the  rocks  are  sheer  to  the  water's 
edge,  'riie  sun  wanes  toward  tlie  west,  and  the  wind  j^iows  keener.  Yonder  is  Mouiit 
Oxford,  not  unhke  Owl's  Head ;  and  iiere  is  a  landinjj:,  toward  whicii  our  steamer's 
prow  inclines.  We  are  at  the  foot  of  the  lake.  This  drowsy  little  town  is  Mnod^ 
and  attracts  few  of  us  asiiore.  A  crowd  of  <rai)inj:j  inhabitants  arc  on  the  wharf  to  wel- 
come vs,  antl,  as  we  turn  down  I  lie  lake  -ijjfain,  they  break  into  a  feeble  l)Ut  well-nicun- 
ing  cheer.  The  ni<rht  comes  on,  and  we  haul  up  antl  gt)  to  sleep  in  a  comfortable  lioitl 
at  the  base  of  the  mountains. 

In  the  morniusj  we  ascend  Owl's  Head.  The  i)ath-wav  from  the  hotil  is  in  ^dud 
condition,  overarched  l>y  i)ines  and  cedars,  bordered  by  ])leasant  fields.  A  chorus  of 
birds  swells  through  the  thickets ;  a  few  brown  scpiiirels  llee  before  us  as  we  ad\ ancc. 
The  air  is  tilled  with  ihe  fragrance  of  wilil -flowers,  mosses,  and  ferns.  Occasionallv, 
through  the  green  curtain  that  shelters  us  from  the  mounting  sun,  we  catch  a  glini|)sc' 
of  the  untroubled,  azure  skv.  On  the  way  there  is  a  shelving  rock,  under  which  we  ;uc 
shelteied  during  a  ])assing  shower ;  and,  proceeding  faither,  we  reach  a  mass  of  stcme, 
plumed  with  ferns,  and  covered  on  the  sides  with  a  velvety  moss.  The  summit  re.iched, 
we  have  such  a  view  as  rewards  our  toil.  Looking  south,  we  see  the  lake  from  end  to 
end,  its  islands  and  villages,  the  near  rivers  tlasliing  in  the  sunlight.  Looking  norlli,  ilu' 
picture  expands  into  other  beauties;  and,  to  the  east  and  west,  there  are  n'ori'  l.ikcs, 
plains,  islands,  and  mountains.  The  summit  itself  is  riven  into  lour  |)eaks,  silent  r.ivinc? 
intervening  between  tiiem.  ( )nec  a  vear  a  lodge  of  iVeiniasons  meets  here,  and,  011  the 
face  of  the  "  Mountain    Mysterv."  are  written  some  cabalistic  signs  of  the  order. 


Miitiiii    I  lr|i|i»iilus,  (iiiiii   (III'    I. like   siciiiiirr. 


•r  to  the  watir's 
ondcr  is  Mount 
li  our  steamer's 
[own  is  MafTcjjT, 
lie  wharf  to  wcl- 
L"  l)Ut  wcH-nuan- 
;onifortablc  iintd 

lotcl    is    ill    uciotl 
A    chorus   of 

as  we  advance. 
IS.  Occasionally, 
catch  a  filinipsc 
Icr  which  we  arc 
.1    mass    of  siiiiic, 

summit  leaciicd, 
ske  fr(jni  eiul  In 
)okinjr   iiortli,  the 

are  more  lakes, 
aks,  silent  ravine^ 
licrc,  ami,  on  the 
e  order. 


THE     MOHAWK,     ALBANY,     AND     TROY. 

WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS     I!Y     MESSRS.     1"ENN     AMI     WOODWARD. 


i  ! 


F    U 


I^llKKI",  is  a  part  of  New-Vork  State  around  which  the  spell  of  the  pastoral  a>>;cs 
has  surely  been  thrown,  and  which  n'^'"^  •"  ''  •'  sentiinenl  of  extreme  anlit|uity 
lor  which  history  refuses  to  account.  A  round  two  hundred  and  lilty  yean  an-  all 
for  which  the  Muse  of  History  considers  herself  responsible;  and  y<-t,  thouyhoiit 
this  ix'jrici,  there  is  an  atmosphere  of  peace  and  iitiiet,  as  if  ;eons  of  liappy  )eais  had 
glided  away  since  hrst  man  led  cows  to  ^ra/.e  and  shee|)  to  nibble  at  the  fat  pastures. 
Tins   pastoral    country  is  the  valley  of  the    Mohawk,  a   river  whose  tiiie    Indian  disigna- 


V 


458 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


tion  is  unknown,  Init 
which  has  prcservcil 
the  name  of  tlie  ;iho- 
rigines  who  dwelt 
upon  its  banks. 

The  Mohawk  ris- 
es in  Oneida  County, 
about  twenty  miks 
north  of  Rome  ;  Hows 
Southeast  and  east, 
falling  into  the  Hud- 
son, after  a  strftcli 
of  one  hundred  ;ind 
thiity-five  miles,  ten 
miles  above  Albany 
It  is  but  a  potty 
stream  near  its  oritrin, 
nor  is  it  fed  by  im- 
portant tributaries  un- 
til it  has  p...;sed  the 
city  of  Utica.  It  is 
clear  that  the  impetus 
of  the  city  was  not 
derived  from  the  river, 
but  from  the  I'.rie 
Canal ;  for  tlie  streets 
are  all  built  in  I  he 
proximity  t>f  tlie  lat- 
ter, and  the  It  mer  is 
outside  of  the  town  al- 
gether.  It  niean«ler>^ 
pi  uidly  past,  1  ravel- 
ling very  slowly,  and 
with  more  tinns  awX 
bends  than  that  la- 
mous  river  in  Asia 
Minor  which  Xeno- 
phon  has  iminnrtal- 
i/.i(l,  and   from   whuh 


*t 


THE    MOHAWK,    ALBANY,   AND    TROY. 


459 


is  unknown,  liut 
1  has  preserved 
lame  of  tlio  aho- 
,'s      who      dwelt 

its  banks. 
rhe  Mohawk  ris- 

Oneida  County, 
t  twenty  miles 
1  of  Rome ;  Hows 
least  and  east, 
g  into  the   1  iiul- 

after  a  stretch 
ine  hup.dred  and 
yf-hvc  miles,  ten 
1  above  Albany. 
is  but  a  ]ietty 
m  near  its  origin, 

is  it  fed  by  im- 
;mt  tributaries  un- 
t    has   p.jsed    the 

of  Utiea.  It  is 
•  that  the  impetus 
he  city  was  not 
/ed  from  the  river, 

from     the     l.rie 
al ;  for  the  streets 

all  built  in  the 
;imily    tif  the  lat- 

and  the  l<  nur  is 
ide  of  the  town  al- 

tber.  it  nieaniier« 
idly     past,    Iravel- 

verv   slowly,  and 

more    tu^n'^  and 

;ls    than     that     li- 

s     river    in    .X^ia 

(It     whiih    Xi-no- 

I     has     immortal- 

,   ,nul   from   winch 


we  get  the  word  nuander. 
But,  though  the  town  neg- 
lects it,  the  farms  do  not ; 
and  on  every  side  are  long, 
tnuKjuil  meadows,  studded 
with  trees  that  mount  up 
from  the  water's  edge  with 
a  most  gradual  ascent.  The 
Eric  Canal,  going  still  more 
slowly  than  the  placid  Mo- 
hawii,  is  on  one  side  of  it ; 
and  the  pufi'mg,  panting  loco- 
motives of  the  New  -  York 
Central  Railroad  go  shrieking 
past  on  the  other.  Beyond 
the  meadows  rise  gentle  hills, 
uhd^e  sides  are  thick  with 
trees  that  glance  and  gleam 
in  the  sunlight  as  the  frolic- 
some winds  display  the  up- 
per and  the  lower  sides  of 
tile  leaves.  'Ihe  cattle  graze 
close  to  the  river,  near  the 
bulrushes ;  and  the  sheep  feed 
hi^rher  up,  where  the  grass  is 
shorter  and  less  rank.  All 
kinds  of  birds  that  love  the 
fat  w,)rms  of  the  rich  pastoral 
soil  Hit  from  bush  to  bush, 
or  |)erch  upon  the  tame  backs 
of  the  cows,  or  even  upon 
tiif  horns  of  some  ilignitied 
old  ram.  And  the  river  goes 
mmmuring  on  through  this 
scene  of  ipiiet  happiness  imtil 
it  comes  to  a  place  where 
the  Adirondack  Mountains 
have  thrown  out  a  line  of 
skirmishing    rocks,    and    here 


%  \ 


:  ''■  4 


1^ 


i^'i 


460 


PIC  TURESQ LIE    AMERICA. 


the  tranquillity  of  the  Mohawk  is  hrouiiht  to  an  abrupt  conclusion.  This  is  at  Little 
Falls.  It  must  he  confessed  that  tlie  skirmishers  of  the  mountains,  in  pursuance  of 
the  eternal  war  waged  between  the  rocks  and  the  rivers,  have  here  made  a  most 
tremendous  and  determined  onslaught,  for  the  place  is  literally  heaped  with  rocks. 
They  are  everywhere — cropping  up  between  the  houses,  over  the  roofs,  in  the  gardens; 
bursting  out  of  the  sides  of  the  green  hills,  that  here  become  really  mountains;  and  shirt- 
ing up  in  the  bed  i)f  the  river  in  the  most  perplexing  manner.  The  river  here 
makes  a  descent  of  over  forty  feet,  accomplishing  the  effort  in  three  small  falls,  which 
have  been  turned  to  great  profit  by  the  people  of  the  town,  for  they  furnish  water-power 
to  a  great  many  factories.  These,  for  the  most  part,  are  u|ion  the  island  which  sjirings 
up  in  the  river  below  the  first  fall ;  and  this  island  is  perhaps  the  rockiest  part  of  tlie 
whole  settlement.  The  luie  Canal  runs  through  a  channel  bl  isted  out  of  the  solid  rock 
at  the  foot  of  a  stec])  hill,  which  rises  on  the  east  side  of  the  river,  and  is  called  the 
RoUaway. 

On  the  other  side  rises  another  hill,  not  so  precipitous,  but  higher,  and  terraced 
upward  with  grand,  curving  lines,  that  show  clearly  the  erosive  power  of  the  Mohawk  in 
past  times.  It  had  its  turbulent  youth,  also;  and  the  day  was  when  it  swept  these  hills 
with  a  fierce  current  that  laughed  at  such  ])uny  obstacles.  Now  it  glides  peacefully  on- 
ward, and  sings  with  a  pleased  murmur  to  the  fat  cattle,  and  the  impudent  birds  that  sip 
of  its  waters  and  toss  their  heads  half  d'sdainfully. 

Hut  there  are  witnesses  still  extant  of  what  the  waters  did  in  the  reinote  past;  for 
here  is  Profile  Rock,  where  tlie  haid  stone  has  been  so  mauled,  and  had  its  stratification 
so  handled,  that  the  very  fair  likeness  to  a  human  profile  has  been  washed  out.  That 
tow-path,  where  the  canal-horses  tug  ami  strain  so,  is  the  favorite  drive  of  ihe  towns- 
people, and,  indeed,  the  gootl  folks  have  nowhere  else  to  drive,  being  circumvented  and 
hemmed  in  by  their  rocky  girdle.  Accordingly,  the  Profile  Rock  is  one  of  the  institu- 
tions of  the  place;  and  the  stianger  within  the  gates  who  should,  out  of  pure  "  cusscd- 
ness,"  refuse  to  see  any  resemblance  to  the  human  visage,  would  be  considered  verv  — 
impolite,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  The  view  along  the  canal  tow-path  is  exceedingly  intti 
esting.  The  side  of  the  kollaway  runs  along  the  canal  for  several  miles,  and  is  clothed 
with  a  \\\\\:  growth  of  trees — stately,  dark  pines ;  white  beeches,  with  gleaming,  silveiv 
trunks;  ami  bending  aspens,  here  and  there.  On  the  other  side  is  the  Mohawk,  onee 
moie  united,  for  the  locky  island  terminates  at  the  end  of  the  town.  The  rocks,  liou- 
ever,  continue;  and,  though  of  no  height,  are  strangely  varied  in  shape,  and  beautihdiv 
mingled  with  !)osky  shrubs  and  thick  bushes,  waving  grasses  and  delicate  harebells.  Ihii 
gradually  the  Rollaway  dwindles  to  a  hank,  and  the  rocks  to  pebbles;  and,  after  the  .Sus- 
pension  Uridge  is  passed,  the  Mohawk  is  itself  again,  and  the  pastoral  era  is  renewed. 

i'rom  tiiis  point  to  Schenectady  may  be  termed  the  heart  of  the  Mohawk  \'allty. 
It  is  dilTicult  to  say  which  offers  the  most  picturescjue    and    pleasing  view     the  valle\   ol 


his  is  at  Little 
11  pursuance  of 
made  a  most 
eel  with  loeks. 
in  the  gardens ; 
tains;  and  si;irt- 
rhe  river  lure 
nail  falls,  which 
lish  \vater-])o\\er 
d  which  sprinjrs 
est  part  of  the 
f  the  solid  rock 
nd  is  called  the 

sr,  and  terraced 
the  Mohawk  in 
;wcpt  these  hills 
s  peacefully  on- 
it  birds  that  sip 

emote  past ;   lor 

its  stratilieation 

hed    out.      Thai 

of  (he  towns- 
cumvented    and 

of  the  institu- 
f  pure  "  eussed- 
insidered  \fi\' 
ceedinyly  intti- 
,  and  is  clothed 
learning,  silvery 

Mohawk,  once 
he  rocks,  hou- 
and  l)eaulifiill\ 
haiehells.  Km 
I,  .liter  the  Sii'>- 
1  is  renewed. 

iiliawk    X'allev. 
the  vallcv  of 


I      I 


I     < 


462 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


r,,.i,u-  i<,„k. 


the  Mohawk  from  the  Rolhiway,  lookinjjf  westward,  or  hom  the  Suspension  Hridji^e,  In- 
low  Little  I'alls,  lookiiiij  eastward.  Both  iiave  llie  sanu-  jmstoral  beaiitv  ;  both  have  ilie 
same  low  hills,  the  same  embowering  trees.  There  is  a  re)rularity  aiiout  the  lines  ot  llif 
former  which  will  commend  itself  to  the  lovers  of  symmetry,  and  there  is  a  pictiires(nif 
looseness   about    the   latter  which  many  will   deem    more    artistic.      To  Americans  -eager, 


THE    MOHAWK,    ALRANW    AND     TROY. 


463 


nsion  Hridjic  lit- 
;  holh  have  ilic 
I  ho  lines  ol  llu' 
is  a  pictures(|iif 

ViiR-ricans  -t-agt'i, 


pushing,  hustling,  ever  on 
(lie  loolvout  for  spiiercs  of 
iictinii,  for  possihilities  of 
enterprise — there  is  a  some- 
thiim  hiM'o  of  peaceful  cn- 
jovnieiU  which  sinks  deep 
into  the  heart.  It  is  a  restful 
place,  emphatically.  Hence 
we  cannot  be  surprised  when 
wc  lind  Schenectady,  the 
capital  of  this  region,  par- 
taking of  this  quiet,  unen- 
ergetic  character ;  and  this 
citv  has  this,  also,  in  com- 
mon with  the  surrounding::, 
(iuit  it  appears  much  older 
llian  it  really  is.  Its  lovers 
—and  it  has  many — claim 
for  it  the  title  of  the  oldest 
citv  in  the  State.  This 
claim  rests  entirely  upon  the 
date  of  the  first  settlement 
of  Albany,  which  sonic  de- 
clare to  have  taken  place  in 
1614,  and  others  in  1623; 
but  tiiere  is  some  confusion 
.ihout  the  matter,  because 
there  was  undeniably  .1  time 
when  the  Indians  called 
hdtli  Skaunoglitada,  which 
means  "  town  across  the 
plains."  However  that  may 
lie,  in  those  remote  limes  it 
is  certain  that  Schenectady 
pi()|ier  was  more  nourishing 
than  .\lbanv.  It  was  at  the 
head  'if  (he  rich  Mohawk 
\'allt  \ ,  and  did  an  inniiense 
Imsiness     in     dairy     pioduce 


o 

S 


464 


PIC  TUR-ESO  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


i  \ 

I 

i 


and  Indian  peltries.  The  In- 
dians seem  to  have  lived  j,, 
harmony  with  the  Diits  ii  set- 
tlers for  many  years,  and  it 
was  not  until  '.690  that  they 
suddenly  heeame  enemies, 
On  this  oeeasion,  the  uiiole 
population,  save  sixty  souls, 
was  annihilated ;  and  the 
town  was  destioNed  bv  liiv. 
It  was  burned  ayain  in  1748, 
which  gives  it  (juite  a  his- 
tory ;  antl  the  most  astonish- 
in!^  thing  about  it  is,  iIkU  ii 
looks  as  if  it  had  been  ex- 
isting for  untold  generation^ 
The  Mohawk,  at  this  point, 
is  broad  and  dee|),  and  the 
old  wooden  bridge  that  spans 
it  is  a  inetty  long  one ;  lor 
the  stream  has  been  reeruitcd 
by  several  large  tributaiies 
since  it  swept  by  the  eitv  of 
I'lica,  tiie  chief  contriiuilion 
coming  from  the  West  K;i- 
nahta  Creek,  wliieh,  alici 
dashing  down  the  uildlv- 
beautiful  Trenton  l-"alls,  glides 
peaceably  enough  into  the 
|)lacid  bosom  of  the  Mo- 
hawk, and  reniend)eis  its  past 
furious  excitement  onl\  in 
dreams. 

Beyond  Schenectady  the 
river  sweeps  on  with  a  iiLtjcstv 
obtained  from  its  ineiea^-etl 
volume,  but  the  count ry  is  not 
so  pastoral  as  it  was.  Tiie 
soil  is  shalv,  and  the  hills  are 


eltrics.  Thr  In- 
()    liavc  livtil  ill 

the  DuUh  Nct- 
ly   years,  and   it 

1690  that  iIrt 
;camc  cmniics, 
ision,  the  whole 
ave  sixty  souls, 
ted ;  and  the 
;strovcd  bv  tire. 
J  a<iain  in  1 74S, 
it  <|uitc  a  iiis- 
L'  most  astonish- 
Dut  it  is,  that  it 
t  had  l)een  t\- 
told  jTCMiciatiun?. 
k,  at    this    point, 

I  deep,  and  the 
iridfje  that  sjians 
y  long  one ;  foi- 
ls been  recruited 
laipe     tributaries 

by  the  city  of 
lief  contribuiion 
tin-   West    Ka- 
whieh,     aftt'r 
11     tiie     wildly- 
Kin    l'"alls,  ,i;li(les 
nii,iih     int<i     liie 
of     tiie     Mo- 
icniliers  its  |iast 
L-nienl     (inl\     in 

Schenectady  llie 
n  w  illi  a  majesty 

II  its  incriii'^ed 
le  count  ry  is  not 
s  it  was.  The 
nd  the  hills  ate 


THH    MOII.WIK,    .UJi.l\-)\    .l.\/>     /AVM' 


465 


Colioes    Falls. 


low.  At  Cohoes  there  is  a  jfrcat  fall;  about  a  mile  above  the  falls,  the  river,  broad  and 
deep  as  it  is,  has  been  hei^.^nied  in  by  a  d.nn,  and  a  "leat  |)oition  of  its  waters  drawn  oft 
liv  a  water-power  company.  The  little  town  of  Cohoes  i^:  entirely  manufaeturin.ti.  It 
is  the  f.owcll  of  New  York.  Here  aie  the  ureat  Ilarmoin  ( "otton-Mills ;  and  here, 
also,  are  some  twenty-five  woollen-mills,  besides  paper-factories  and  other  industries.  The 
falls  of  Cohoes  are  (juite  close  to  the  Harmony  Mills;  and  a  ca|iital  view  can  be 
obtained  of  them,  either  fiDin  the  baidv   in  rear  of  one  of  the  mills,  or  liDin  an  island  in 


■»'' 


i!  .     t 


i!     I 


I 


i  i 


i  "'    ''  *'■ 
i        i  ■ 


ii 


466 


ric  ri  7v'  r.sc )  1 7;  .  /  mi-rica. 


1^ 


Ihc  liver,  at  souk-  (lislancc  liclow.  Wtv  imuli  depends  upon  the  season  of  tlie  year  as 
rei^ards  the  ini|)ressi()n  wliicli  the  falls  make  upon  tlie  mind  of  a  traveller  In  the  ili\ 
season  there  is  l)ut  little  water,  and  hence  the  upper  part  of  the  falls  ap|)ears  like  n 
series  of  yrand  rapids.  In  the  earlv  sunirner  tiiere  is  one  tremendous  tleseent  of  waier, 
falliny  o\ei-  seventy  feet.  The  hanks  on  either  side  are  high  and  shaly,  crowned  ocn. 
erally  with  dark  pines  at  the  summit,  and  showing,  below,  a  diagonal  stratification,  as  if 
the\-  had  been  upheavctl. 

Iklow  the  falls  the  river  is  divided  hy  a  green  island,  the  favorite  resort  of  picnickers 
from  the  neighboring  cit)'  of  'I'roy.  This  is  a  great  manufacturing  centre,  espeeiall}-  of 
metals,  and  therefore  abounding  in  tall  cliimneys  vomiting  forth  black  smoke.  I'or  (his 
reason  the  iniiabitants,  who  love  to  call  themselves  Trojans,  ])refer  to  dwell  upon  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  whicii  is  only  a  mile  or  so  from  Cohoes.  It  is  here  ihat  iIk' 
junction  of  the  Mohawk  and  the  Hudst)n  takes  place,  between  luist  and  West  'Irov. 
There  is  here,  also,  a  large  island,  on  which  ihe  Troy  IJridge  finds  a  support  for  its  cen- 
tral part,  'ihe  view  here  of  the  bustling  place  is  inspiriting,  and  makes  one  as  eager  to 
be  up  and  doing  as  the  pastoral  scenes  of  the  Mohawk  X'alley  made  us  wish  to  live 
and  die  shepherds.  Troy  is  a  citv  of  some  (ift\'  thousand  inhabitants,  situated  at  the 
moutii  of  Foestenkill  Creek,  si.\  miles  ai)ove  Albany,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty-one  milts 
''    >ve  New   York — an  active,  enterprising,  and  bustling  city. 

Albany,  which  now  numbers  over  seventy  thcnisand  souls  within  its  borders,  is  a 
great  railroad  centre,  and  the  main  |)oint  of  departure  for  Western  travellers.  It  is  the 
terminus  of  nearly  all  the  great  steamboat  lines  of  the  Hudson  ;  but  its  chief  importance 
is  that  of  being  the  capital  of  the  great  F^mpire  State.  Albany  is  the  oldest  settlenunt 
in  the  original  thirteen  colonies,  except  Jamestown,  \'irginia.  Henry  Hudson,  in  the 
yacht  Half-Moon,  moored  in  September,  i6oq,  at  a  point  which  is  now  in  Broadwav, 
.Mban;,.  Several  Dutch  navigators  ascendetl  the  river  to  the  same  jjlace  during  the  next 
three  or  four  years;  and  in  161.4  the  Dutch  built  the  lirst  fort  on  an  island  below  the 
present  city,  which  is  hence  called  Castle  Island.  In  161 7  a  fort  was  built  at  the  mouth 
of  the  NornuMiskill ;  and  in  1628  another  was  erected  near  the  present  steamboat-land- 
ing in  the  south  part  of  the  city,  and  named  I-'ort  Orange.  A  quadrangular  fort,  called 
I'ort  I'lederick,  was  afterward  built  on  the  high  ground,  now  State  Street,  between  St. 
Peter's  Church  and  the  Geoli\gical  Hall,  with  lines  of  palisades  extending  down  Steuinn 
and  Hudson  Streets  lo  the  river.  These  fortifications  were  demolishes  soon  after  the 
Re\i)lution.  The  jilaci'  was  called,  by  the  Dutch,  New  Orange,  and  retaineil  that  name 
until  the  whole  province  passed  into  |)t)ssession  of  the  English,  in  1664,  when  Niw 
Orange  was  changed  to  Albanv,  in  honor  of  the  Duke  of  York  and  Albany,  afuiwanl 
James  H.  In  1686  yVlbain-  City  was  incorporated  by  patent.  Peter  Schuyler  was  tlu 
lirst  nia\'or.  The  Schu\ler  family  possessed  the  good-will  of  the  Indians  to  such  a  degree 
that,  while  other  settlenu  nts  were  desolateil   bv    Indian  foravs,  Albanv  was  never  attacked 


of  till-  year  as 
T  In  the  tli\ 
appears  like  ;i 
L'sccnt  of  water, 
\',  crowned  '^n\- 
atilication,  as  if 

)rt  of  picnickers 
re,  especially  of 
iiokc.  For  tills 
.iu'cll  upon  tlic 
;  here  (hat  thv 
nd  West  'liov. 
)orl  for  its  cen- 
one  as  eager  t(i 
IS  wish  to  live 
situated  at  the 
hfty-onc  miles 

ts  borders,  is  a 
ers.  It  is  the 
hief  imi)ortaiKT 
(lest  settlement 
ludson,  in    the 

in  Uroadwav, 
inin<>  the  next 
and  below  the 
t  at  tiie  nioiitli 
steamboat-land- 
idar  fort,  called 
ct,  between  St. 
down  Steulicii 
soon  after  I  lie 
ncd  that  name 
34,  wiien  New 
nniv,  afterward 
Inivler  was  llu 

such  a  degree 
never  attacked 


1    '.  ' 


468 


/'/( ■  7Y  RliSOC'n:    AMERICA. 


■  by  them.  Ik-sides  its  aiuidit 
im|)ortanee  as  a  eeiitie  ot  the 
Indian  trade,  Alhanv  ;iiui. 
ward  became  tlie  point  wluiv 
the  great  military  exju'ditions 
against  Canada  were  fitted  mit. 
It  was  fortilied  at  an  cniv 
period  ;  and,  altiioiigli  (itun 
threatened  with  invasion,  no 
hostile  army  ever  readied  ihc 
city.  Here  assembled  the  Inst 
convention  tor  the  union  u\ 
the  colonies.  It  was  held  in 
1754,  Heiijamin  iManklin  iic- 
ing  presiding  ofliccr. 

There  are  twt)  views  of 
Albany  which  are  speeinllv 
good;  one  is  from  the  oilier 
side  of  the  river,  where  the 
city  rises  up  from  the  west- 
ern bank  in  irregular  tt'nacrs, 
the  culminating  pt)int  liciny 
crowned  with  the  capitol,  rni- 
bovvered  amid  the  foliage  of 
old  trees.  Soon  a  more  ]i;il;i- 
tial  and  dazzling  building  will 
take  the  place  of  the  ])resiiit 
.structure,  and  will  give  to  ilic 
heights  of  Albany  a  magiiili- 
cent  apex.  Uj)  and  down 
the  river,  the  city  stretches  far 
and  wide,  with  coaling-stations 
and  founderies  to  the  south, 
and,  to  the  north,  long  raiiuis 
of  cattle-wards.  Above,  ilu- 
hills  of  the  town  rise,  cov- 
ered with  fine  old  houses,  and 
towering  churches,  and  mas- 
sive legislati\e  halls,  and  liiim' 


csides   its  aiHicnt 

i  a  centre  ol   \\w 

;,     Albany     :iiUT- 

llu'  |i()inl   wIkiv 

litary  e.\]U'(liti(]iis 

la  were  fitted  mit. 

fled    at    an    (iiiiv 

,    all  hough    (irien 

ith    invasion,    no 

e\er  reached  I  he 

ssemhlcd  the  first 

or    the    nnioii  dl" 

It  was  hell!  in 

nin    I'ranklin    hf- 

o  nicer, 
re   two    \ie\\s   of 
jh     are     speeiiilly 
s    from   the   other 
river,    where    ilie 
I    from    the   west- 
irregular  terraces, 
ing    point    lieiiii; 
1  the  capitol,  ( iii- 
d    the    foliage  of 
oon  a  more  jial.i- 
ling  building  will 
e  of  the    ])res(iit 
will  give   to  ihe 
lban\'   a    inagiiili- 
U|)     and    down 
city  stretches  far 
h  coaling-stations 
L'S    to    the    south, 
ortli,  long  ranges 
ds,      Abox'c,    the 
town    rise,    cov- 

■  old   houses,  and 
rches,    and    iiias- 

■  halls,  and  hum' 


I 


•■  I 


SCENES     IN     AND     AKOUNL)     ALUANY. 


Ill 


iK;iJ!. 


470 


riCrHRESQUE    A  Ml'.  RICA. 


<■■ 


iJi  **  ^  "-'Ari^LL^.k 


caiavansarics  of  liotrls.  The 
other  view  shuts  out  the  livci 
ah-.iost — at  least,  all  the  aetiv- 
ity  along  the  western  hank— 
and  gives  to  the  eye  a  wider 
strcteh  of  vision.  Lookinir 
from  Kenwood,  one  sees  tln' 
eity  foreshortened,  and  gath- 
ered into  a  huge  mass;  while 
the  two  bridges  across  ihe 
Ihidsc  n,  and  the  lahyrinlhine 
railway-lines  of  East  Albanv, 
become  very  prominent.  The 
elevators,  ami  the  tall  ehini- 
neys,  with  their  black  smoke 
above,  and  jet  of  red  liie  he- 
low,  rising  from  the  inm- 
works,  and  all  the  industria! 
part  upon  the  extremity  of 
the  eity,  come  plainly  into 
view.  One  can  see  (he  mass- 
es of  foliage  of  the  trees  in 
Washington  i'.irk,  and  the 
brown  sedges  of  (he  Ikits 
above  the  (own.  i'ar  in  the 
distance  lie  (piiet  hills,  on 
whose  sides  the  iiapers  ,110 
at  work  on  (he  In  owned 
wheat ;  while  a(  (he  base  ,nc 
serried  lines  of  tiees  th;i( 
may  have  stood  (here  in  the 
old  days,  when  (he  Mohawks 
ruled  (he  land.  I-'iom  the 
suniini(s  o|  those  hills,  look- 
ing northward,  one  can  >^(r. 
with  (he  tUmost  distinct  in  ss, 
the  junction  ol  the  bnMd 
Hudson  with  the  ijuiel  Mo- 
hawk. 


of    lioU'ls.     '1  1k' 

UtS   out    tllC    Il\('l 

ast,  all  till'  arin- 
wcstorn  bank  — 
the  eye  a  widci 
ision.      Lookini; 
lod,  one  sees  tin 
tcned,  and    i;,uli- 
jujje  mass ;  wiiilc 
idiivs    across    llir 
the  lahyiinthiiK' 
of   luist   AUmuv, 
prominent.     TIk' 
d    the    tall   cliim- 
licir  black  smoke 
L't  of  red  firi'  lic- 
froni     the     inm- 
all   the    industria' 
tiie    extremity  of 
)me    i)lainly    into 
pan  see  (he  mass- 
of   the  trees  in 
Park,    and    tlic 
res    of     the    Ihit'^ 
t)\vn.     I'ar   in  I  lie 
(|iiiet     hills,    oil 
the    reapers   arc 
n     the     brov\  lU'd 
c  at   the  base  arc 
;     of    trees     lli,\l 
tf)od  there  in  the 
en  the  Mohawks 
ind.        I-'rom    ilic 
those  hills,  look- 
nd,  one   can   '^cc, 
most    distinct niss, 
n     of     the     liKi.iil 
h    iIk'    ([uiel    Mo- 


THE    UPPER    DELAWARE. 


WITH     I  1. 1,  u  ST  k  A  r  1  o  N  s     liv    J.    nor  CI   \s     woodward. 


•       I 


biokt 


n    into    '-ex - 


High   Kalla,   IHn|[inan'ii   '  rrck. 


lu'reaboiit    the  >i|rf,im^  .ire 

eial    piiliiresi|iu'    I. ills,    tin     niissl     iinpnii.nit 


THE    UPPER    DELAWARE. 


473 


Lj)^ 


1  % 


o'"  which  are  the  Hijrh  Falls,  shown  in  our  first  sketch.  It  was  in  the  morning  when 
we  first  rambled  through  the  bosky  approaches  to  this  cascade ;  and,  after  leaping  down 
slipi)ery,  moss-covered  rocks,  wc  reached  the  foot,  only  to  find  a  thin  stream  of  water 
trickling  down,  with  very  little  music,  and  less  spray.  Tiie  weather  had  been  dry — but 
that  fact  .carcely  consoled  us — and  we  could  only  admire  the  tints  of  the  rocks,  and  the 
foliage  that  seemed  to  grow  out  of  the  basin  into  which  the  waters  made  their  first  leap 
hcfore  rushing  through  a  narrow  bit  of  hill  and  descending  to  a  lower  level.  The  artist 
was  content,  thankful  for  the  smallest  share  of  Nature's  bounty ;  but  the  literary  soul 
was  disappointed  and  growling. 

We  were  retracing  our  steps  to  the  hostelry  leisurely,  when  the  premonitions  of  a 
storm  urged  us  mto  a  quicker  pace.  Gusts  of  wind  soughed  among  the  trees,  and  heavy 
(in)|>s  of  ra'n  pattered  fast  on  the  trembling  leaves  and  parched  earth.  The  sunshine  was 
liiddcn  beneath  the  gray  clouds  that  came  rolling  from  the  east.  Wc  considered  our- 
sclvis  in  for  a  wet  day,  and  wc  dozed  near  the  veranda,  |)uffing  at  our  brier  pipes  in  a 
iikkhI  of  bachilor  meditation. 

Ikit  in  the  afternoon  there  was  clearer  and  warmer  weather,  and  we  again  trami)ed 
to  the  foot  of  the  Iligii  Falls.  If  the  spirit  of  the  artist  was  content  before,  it  was 
aglow  now.  The  scene  had  changed,  and,  instead  of  a  mere  thread  of  water,  there  was 
a  hiii)bling,  foaming,  boisterous  torrent,  echoing  its  voice  in  the  walls  of  the  hills  through 
the  veins  of  which  it  found  a  sparkling  way.  The  moss  in  the  crevices  held  glittering 
drops  on  its  velvety  surface  ;  and  the  branches  of  overarching  trees  looked  as  though 
they,  too,  were  crystallized.  The  changing  position  ol  the  clouds  threw  shadows  across 
the  water,  varying  its  tints,  and  first  giving  it  the  appearance  of  a  pure  white,  then  of  a 
faint  green,  afterward  of  a  soft  blue.  The  artist  drew  our  attention  this  way  and  that — 
one  moment  toward  yonder  darkling  hollow  in  tlie  rocks,  as  the  spray  dashed  itself  into 
the  Itrown  seams;  ne.xt  toward  the  water,  as  the  light  played  ever-new  tricks  with  it; 
and  then  to  a  little  pool  formed  in  the  cup  of  a  bowlder.  That  keen  eye  of  his  dis- 
covered effects  in  the  smallest  nooks,  underneath  the  fronds  of  the  tiniest  fern,  among 
the  gnins  of  sand  that  lodged  in  the  crevices,  and  in  the  swaying  shadows  of  the  formr 
aroiMid.  He  occupied  us  constantly  for  more  than  two  full  hours,  anil  was  even  then 
inclined  to  linger,  although  our  journey  was  long  and  the  time  short. 

I'rom  the  ferry  we  proceeded  toward  Milford.  The  stage-road  runs  along  the  base 
"f  a  mountain,  so  precipitous  as  to  resemble  the  Palisade  of  the  Hudson.  Atoms  of 
rock,  rolling  down,  have  made  the  bed  as  hard  as  concrete;  and  they  have  been  spread 
so  evenly  thi  •  travelling  is  smooth  and  comfortable.  The  outlook  is  magnificent.  The 
shc(  t  wall  of  the  mountain  is  on  (tne  side  of  us,  protecting  us  from  the  scorching  rays 
of  the  sun  ;  and  undulating  meadows  reach  afar  in  the  opposite  direction,  dotted  with 
many  a  snug  farm-house,  painted  red  or  white,  that  shows  its  thatched  roof  over  the  lops 
I'f  the  orchard.     The  river  glistens  through  this  green  expanse,  and  is  spanned,  here   and 


Y 


POHT    JEHVIS     AND     VICINITY. 


■f  D 


.m^ '  -''"  ■ 


„  —-.■■''  .-^ 

32  ■■'.■'  .'     •    ■ 


,.»'"'-j»i»jjjff 


r 


IHE    yn  PH     OHl.A\N 


476 


PIC  I  URESQ  LIE    A  ME  RICA. 


a 


there,  by  a  picture  ']ue  bridj^e.     Still  farther  away  are  the  purple  lines  of  more  hills,  nu  s- 
terious  in  the  hazi     if  a  warm  autumn  morning. 

Some  distance  ilow  the  village  of  Milford,  we  reach  the  falls  of  the  Raymondskill, 
in  which  the  artist  finds  more  beauties  and  wonders.  The  torrent  tumbles  from  amoni; 
a  mass  of  foliage  down  a  rock,  and  is  broken  several  times  by  projections,  which  cause 
it  to  surge  and  foam  in  a  gi^aid  tumult.  Three  miles  farther  in  our  course,  we  enter  tlic 
village,  which  is  prettily  situated  in  a  valley,  and  divided  through  the  centre  by  a  ronian- 
tic  glen.  Glens  always  are  romantic,  for  lovers  invariably  choose  to  make  love  in  tlicii 
shade  and  quiet.  Who  that  n%irtls  novels  ever  read  of  a  troth  pledged  in  the  sunliglit } 
From  some  inscrutable  instinct,  i  s  always  done  in  shadowy  places ;  and  here  in  Mil- 
ford  Glen,  on  a  summer-  afternon  ind  evening,  young  men  and  maidens  Hock,  and  wan- 
der, arm-in-arm,  through  the  narTo*^  paths  and  murky  hollows.  The  Sawkill,  scarcely 
more  than  a  brook,  trembk^  over  tlw  pebbles,  and  glints  vividly  as  a  stray  shaft  of  sun- 
light breaks  through  the  boiughs  overihead.  Ferns,  mosses,  and  wild-flowers,  are  sprinkled 
on  the  path,  md  strive  to  hietc  the  d«cav  of  a  felled  hemlock  that  rests  between  lud 
sturdier  brotiw-Ts.  It  is  a  low-elv  spot  |jicturesque  in  the  extreme,  a  fit  retreat  for  tht 
'^hepherds  ami    shepherdesses  of  the  Penisylvania  Arcadia. 

Not  more  ihan  two  miles  farther  north  are  the  principal  falls  of  the  Sawkill,  which 
in  general  characteristics  nmch  resemble  the  High  Falls  and  the  Raymondskill.  As  in 
the  iiittcr,  tbe  water  dashes  against  some  projecting  rocks  in  its  downward  course,  and 
is  broken  into  clouds  trf  spray,  which  the  sunshine  colors  with  rainbow  hues.  The  vol- 
ume of  water  is,  in  reality,  divided  into  two  separate  falls  by  an  elbow  of  the  rock; 
but,  before  the  two  reach  the  level  bek>w,  they  commingi     in  one  snowy  mass. 

Following  tiie  windings  ot  the  river,  our  next  stof4)in^  place  was  Port  Jervis  \hiLh 
borders  on  New  York.  New  Jersey,  and  Pennsylvania.  Near  here  the  Neversink  River 
enters  the  Delaware  from  a  vallev  of  great  beauty.  We  followed  the  artist  to  a  phiee 
called  Mount  William,  from  which  there  is  a  superb  view  —  a  wide,  extended  pi.iin 
through  which  the  winding  river  can  be  traced  for  many  miles.  The  afternoon  was  lai 
advanced,  and  the  sun  was  declining  westward.  The  whiteness  of  the  light  was  subdued 
changing  into  a  pale  yellow,  that  .soon  again  would  deepen  into  crimson.  \'ou  see  hmv 
he  has  expressed  this  mellowness  in  the  gray  tone  of  his  sketch.  He  has  included,  too, 
a  considerable  range  of  ground,  bringitjg  in  the  opposite  hills,  the  town,  and  the  river. 
As  far  as  the  e>c  cam  reach,  the  land  i''  under  cultivation.  In  yonder  wide  plain  there 
is  not  one  wild  acre  ;  and,  out  beyond  the  limits  of  the  little  «own,  the  farm-houses  are 
numerous,  and  clow;  together. 

After  leaving  Port  Jervis,  we  touched  at  Lackawa.xen,  to  get  a  ■sketch  of  the  Dela- 
ware and  Hudson  Canal  Aqueduct,  and  thence  continued  our  ymtney  to  Deposit,  in 
which  vicinity  the  scenery  becomes  grander  an<i  wilder.  The  arti^'s  work  te\k  its  mvn 
story  more  ek)qucntly  than  we  could,  and  we  hav(   no  further  not^s  u>  add  to  it 


,1  H 
t 


more  hills,  nns- 

le  Raymondskill, 
les  from  anion^ 
ans,  which  cause 
rse,  we  enter  the 
itre  by  a  roinan- 
ke  love  in  their 
in  the  sunli<rht  ? 
ind  here  in  Mil- 
s  Hock,  and  wan- 
Sawkill,  scarcely 
ray  shaft  of  sun- 
:rs,  are  sprinkitd 
ts  between  twn 
retreat    for  th' 

t  Siwkill,  which 
)ndskill.  As  in 
k'ard   course,  and 

hues.     The  vol- 
w   of  the    ru.k; 

mass. 
;)rt  Jervi'-    •  Inch 
Neversink   kivei 
artist  to  a  place 

extended  iiLiiii, 
ftemoon  wa'^  fai 
:ht  was  sub(Uic(l 
N'ou  see  hmv 
as  included,  ton 
n,  and  the  river 
nAe   plain   llieic 

farm-houses  .w 

ch  of  the  Dfla- 
to   Deposit    in 
)rk  tHIs  its  cwn 
dd  to  it. 


WATER-FALLS  AT  CAYUGA  LAKE, 


WITH    ni.usruA  riDNs   v.s   j.   hoici.as   WdDiiWARD. 


Mii^ 


i     *  I 


1  iij^hanu     I-  11  •'■ 


AVIGA       LAKE, 

in  the  western  cen- 
j)art    of    New -York 
,     is      noted     lor     a 
R'r    of    highly    piclu- 
)iaiitiful    water-falls, 
ly    at    the     head,    or 
southern   extremity,   of  the   lake, 
in   the    vicinity   of  the   inwn    nf 
Ithaca,  faniouS:  not    only    for   its 
surrounding    scenery,  but    for  its 
distinguislu  il   Cornell    University. 
Th      head   of  '^avuga  lies  nearlv 
lour     hiiiidieil     feet     below    the 
level    ot    the    suriDunding   coun- 
try,   wti  li'    a    remarkabli     leatuic 
of    this    elevation    is    a    number 
ot    ravines   and   gonp  <*.  with    an 
alri^itit  endless  s«tce>.KH>M  ot   wa- 
ter-falls, fornuu    bv   >he    piimau 
streams  which   drain   the   midvlU' 


\\ 


^ 


478 


PIC  rUR/iSQ  Uli    A  ME  RICA. 


portion  of  the  nortliLTii  s1o]K'  of  the  watoi-shcd  l)ct\vccn  Chesapeake  \\\\\  and  the  jrulf 
of  the  St.  Lawrenee,  tlieir  first  |)oint  of  reiulezvoiis  l)einjj^  Cayuga  I.ake.  In  suniiiKi, 
the  ravines  are  frequented  by  the  residents  of  near  towns,  and  by  visitors  whose  numbers 
increase  year  by  year,  as  the  fiime  cf  the  wild,  cool  retreats  spreads  abroad.  An  after- 
tea  walk  takes  the  visitor  to  Ithaca  from  crowded  streets  into  the  most  beautiful  of 
Nature's  sanctuaries.  In  winter,  also,  the  ravines  are  visited,  for  the  rare  spectacle  in 
ice-work  which  forms  about  the  cataracts. 

The  most  northerly  of  those  ravines  which  pass  throui,di  the  city  is  Fall  Creek,  in 
which,  within  a  mile,  tiierc  are  eij^ht  falls,  all  of  *^hem  cxceedintrly  fine.  The  walls  of 
the  chasm  are  abrupt  and  high,  fringed  with  a  dusky  growth  of  forest-trees.  i\  pathwav 
was  worked  through  it  some  time  ago,  and  its  soml)re  depths  and  reverberating  waters 
are  now  accessible  to  all  who  have  the  courage  and  entlurance  necessary  to  follow  tlic 
rugged  way.  Four  of  the  falls  range  from  sixty  to  thirty  feet  in  height,  while  a  fifth, 
Ithaca  Fall,  attains  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  In  the  latter  the  foaming  torrent  ka])s 
grandly  between  the  fractured  rock.  Several  times  its  headway  is  broken  by  projectinns, 
and  narrow  coinses  lead  threads  of  the  silvery  water  from  the  main  channel  into  tiie 
foliage  that  closes  around.  Not  far  from  here  we  also  find  the  Triple  Fall,  which  is,  to 
our  mind,  the  most  beautiful  of  all.  It  should  be  named  Hridal-Veil  Fall.  The  watei 
pours  over  the  rock  in  thnads,  as  in  a  veil  of  gauze,  and  is  not  woven  into  a  mass,  as 
in  the  Ithaca  Fall.  But  tiie  people  who  had  in  charge  the  nomenclature  of  this  region 
have  avoided  romance,  and  nameil  the  places  in  a  matter-of-fiict  fashion.  They  have  calKii 
Triple  l'"all  thus  because  the  stream  leaps  thrice  i)efore  it  rijiples  forward  again  on  tlie 
level — first  over  one  rock,  bubbling  on  a  ledge  a  while  before  it  descends  to  the  next, 
and  then  taking  the  grandest  leap  of  all. 

Before  going  farther,  it  is  worth  our  while  to  examine  some  curious  formations  in 
the  vicinity,  which  somewhat  remind  us  of  the  eroded  sandstones  of  Monument  Park. 
Colorado.  Here  is  Tower  Rock,  a  perfect  columnar  formation,  about  thirty-six  feet 
high,  with  a  sort  of  groove  across  the  top.  The  water  of  the  lake  stretches  out 
smoothly  from  its  foot,  and  the  banks  around  are  rocky  and  jagged,  hidden  in  part  li\ 
the  abundant  foliage.  A  still  more  extraordinary  monument  of  Nature's  inexhaustible 
whims  is  found  in  Castle  Rock,  which  has  a  certain  regularity  of  form,  despite  its  un- 
usual cliaiacfi'r.  It  consists  of  a  massive  wall,  with  a  magnificent,  arched  door-way.  One 
of  its  peculiarities  is  that  the  surface  is  torn  anil  fractured,  and  in  the  decj)  seams  formed 
some  trees  and  siirubs  are  living  a  precarious  existence.  In  the  arch  of  the  door-\v.i\, 
for  instance,  there  is  a  deep  slit,  whence  spring  two  sturdy  trees,  their  slender  trunks 
appearing  bleak  and  lonely  in  their  exposed  situation. 

About  a  mile  and  a  half  south  of  Fall  Creek  is  Cascadilla  Creek,  smaller  than  the 
former,  hut  more  delicate  and  harmonious  in  its  scenery.  Between  the  two  ravines,  its 
chimes    minglmg    with    thck   babble,  the    university  is   situated,  on  a  fair  expanse,  nearly 


and  till'  jrull' 
111  suninur, 
'hose  miinhrrs 
(1.  An  al'tcr- 
t  beautiful  of 
li    spectacle    in 

Fall    Creek,  in 

The  walls  of 

i.     A  pathwiu- 

)erating  waters 

to    follow    tlk' 

while  a  tiftli, 
r  torrent  leajis 
l>y  project  inns, 
mnel  into  tiic 
11,  which  is,  to 
11.  The  watci 
nto  a  mass,  as 
of  this  region 
ley  have  calK'd 
a.ijain  on  tlie 
s  to  the  next, 

formations   in 

liniment    I^uk. 

thirty-six    fert 

stretches  out 
n  in  part  li\ 
i  iiK'xhauslililc 
espite  its  ini- 
oqr-way.     One 

seams  foniud 

the  door-wu\, 
sl(-nder  trunks 

laller  than  tlic 
vo  ravines,  its 
•xpanse,  nearlv 


^-  H 


f      ! 


■M 


V !  I 

I      .:i       . 


CAYUOA     LAKE    SCENERY. 


il 


'■:<.% 


480 


P/C Ti^RESQ UJi    .  IMF. RICA. 


four  lumdrcd  iVct  ;il)ovi  the  level  of  the  lake.  The  principal  huilciinsrs  arc  ranged  on  iho 
summit  of  a  hill,  which  sl()])cs  gently,  and  rises  a<iain  in  richly-scented  fields  of  clover 
and  wild-Howers.  The  outlook  is  beautiful  heyond  description.  Nearest  is  the  pretty 
town,  with  its  regular  streets  and  white  houses;  then,  the  luxuriant  valley;  and,  beviui 
that,  twenty  miles  of  the  glistening  lake  are  seen,  hounded  by  verdure-clad  banks  unl 
lofty  cliffs.  One  of  the  buildings,  Cascadilla  Hall,  is  close  to  two  of  the  most  beaiitifiil 
falls  on  that  stream;  an  excellent  road,  built  by  the  toil  of  self-educating  students,  crosses 
the  gorge  by  a  picturesque  bridge,  seventy  feet  above  the  stream,  afterward  winding 
through  a  romantic  grove,  and  affording  many  fine  views  of  the  lake  and  the  valley. 

Six  miles  from  the  city,  in  a  southwesterly  direction,  is  luifield  Falls,  a  spot  uf 
great  interest  on  account  of  the  great  depth  which  a  stream,  of  moderate  t'imensions,  has 
furrowed  into  the  earth.  The  water  reaches  the  main  fall  through  a  narrow  canon,  a 
hundred  feet  deep,  and  then  tumbles  down,  almost  perpendicularly,  a  hundred  and  eightv 
feet,  into  a  chasm,  whose  walls  rise  three  hundred  feet  on  each  side.  Thence  the  stream 
reaches  the  valley  of  the  main  inlet  to  the  lake  through  a  wild,  broken,  wooded  course, 
to  explore  which  is  a  task  suited  only  to  those  who  have  strong  nerves  and  limlis.  The 
main  fall  has  the  same  thread-like  ajipearance  as  Triple  FaH,  and,  like  that,  it  is  broken 
several  times  in  its  downward  course.  The  torrent  leaps  six  times  over  the  protruding 
rock  before  it  reaches  the  foot,  and  proceeds  on  its  way  in  comparative  calm.  .\s  we 
stand  on  a  rock  in  the  eddying  pool  below,  and  glance  upward  through  the  murkv 
chasm,  with  its  sheer  walls  antl  sentinel  evergreens,  the  scene  is  imj)ressive  in  tiic 
extreme,  and  much  more  soml)re  than  other  parts  of  the  neighborhood.  The  stream  in 
the  main  fall  of  Buttermilk  Ravine  als(;  issues  from  a  deej)  channel,  with  jutting  and 
somewhat  steep  walls.  In  this  ravine  there  is  another  of  those  fanciful  stone  monu- 
ments which  we  have  referred  to. 

liut  the  most  noted  and  ])erhaps  the  most  impressive  of  all  the  water-falls  about 
the  head  of  Cayuga  Lake  is  the  Taghanic,  situated  about  ten  miles  northwest  from  the 
town,  and  about  one  mile  up  from  the  west  'hore.  It  is  more  than  fifty  feet  higher 
than  Niagara,  and  is  considered  as  grand  as  the  Staubbach  of  Switzerland.  The  most 
intereiiting  features  are  the  very  deep  ravine,  the  extraordinary  height  of  the  cataract,  its 
sharply-defined  outlines,  and  the  magnificent  view  of  the  lake  and  the  surrounding  coun- 
try that  may  be  obtained  in  its  vicinity.  The  water  breaks  over  a  clean-cut  table-rock, 
and  falls  perpendicularly  two  hundred  and  fifteen  feet.  Ivxce|)t  in  flood-time,  the  veil  (»f 
water  breaks,  and  reaches  the  bottom  in  mist  and  sheets  of  spray.  The  rugged  clii's 
through  which  the  stream  rolls  before  it  makes  its  plunge  arc  about  two  Imndred  feet  w 
de|)th,  and  form  a  triangle  at  the  brink  of  the  fail.  .  ;om  the  foot  a  strong  wind  rushes 
down  the  ravine,  the  walls  of  which  are  here  nearly  for;  hundred  feet  high,  and  as  cleanly 
cut  as  though  laid  by  the  hands  of  a  mason.  This  ravine  is  reached  by  a  series  of  stair- 
ways, hewn  in  the  rock,  and  by  rugged  pathways. 


e  ranpjed  on  the 

fields  ot  clover 
sst  is  the  pretty 
ey ;  and,  beynnd 
-clad  banks  ,ai<.l 
le  most  beautiful 

students,  crosses 
terward    winding 
d  the  valley. 
I'^alls,  a   spot    uf 
e  liimcnsions,  has 

narrow  canon,  a 
ndred  and  eighty 
hence  the  stream 
I,  wooded  course, 

and  limbs.  The 
that,  it  is  broken 
.T  the  protruding 
e  calm.  As  we 
rou^h  the  murky 
iipressive  in  the 
,  The  stream  in 
with  jutting  and 
iful    stone   monu- 

water-falls  about 
rthwest  from    tiie 

fifty  feet  higiicr 
■land.  The  most 
if  the  cataract,  its 
iurroundinjT  coun- 
!an-cut  table-rock, 
l-time,  the  veil  of 
T!ie  rugged  dirt's 
o  hundred  feet  ir 
trong  wind  rushes 
igh,  «nd  as  cleanly 
i  a  series  of  stair- 


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THE    ROCKY    MOUNTAINS. 


W  ITU       I  I,  I.  U  S  T  R  A  T  I  ()  N  S      H  V       THOMAS      M  O  R  A  N  . 


tr 


T  N  a  general  and  some- 
-'■  what  indistinct  way, 
we  may  ail  claim  to  know 
somcthino;  about  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  we  all  r- 
member  the  reverence  and 
awe  tlieir  name  inspired  in 
our  school -days;  but  our 
mature  knowledge  of  tlioni 
is  neither  exact  nor  ex- 
tensive. Perhaps  we  have 
heard  of  Pike's  Peak, 
Gray's  Peak,  and  Long's 
Peak ;  but  we  are  hazy  as 
to  their  altitudes  and  c'nar- 
acteristics,  and  could  r.n.ch 
more  easily  answer  (lucs- 
tions  about  the  Alps,  the 
Andes,   or   the    Himalavas, 


^-  '^'^*^^ 


-    "s^>j^!*-V--:lvhp^ 


I'uucr    Kock,   (iardi'ii   iil    the   llcxli. 


ineral  and  some- 
indistinct    way, 
1  claim  to  know 
about  the  I'vociiy 
,  and  we  all  r^- 
ic  reverence  and 
name  insjiircd  in 
1-days;    but   our 
owlcdgc  of  tlioni 
exact    nor    rx- 
'erhaps   \vc   have 
Pike's      Peak, 
ak,    and    Lonjj's 
we   are  hazy  as 
titudes  and  cliar- 
and  could  i-.,i.tli 
y    answer    (jucs- 
t   the   Alps,  the 
the    Ilinialavas, 


484 


PIC  TL  'R/-:SO Uli    AMERICA. 


% 


than  about  the  magniliccnl  chain  thai  cinl)raccs  an  aica  of  sixty  thousand  sijuarc  miles 
in  Colorado  alone,  and  nurtures  the  streams  that  pour  their  volume  into  the  greatest  and 
most  widely  sejjarate  oceans.  We  may  have  crosseil  the  continent  in  the  iron  pathwav 
of  the  Union  Pacific  over  and  over  again,  and  not  seen  to  advantage  one  of  the  peaks 
that  cluster  and  soar  to  almost  incomparable  elevations — minor  hills  hiding  them  fiom 
the  travellers  in  the  cars  ;  and  we  mav  be  inclined  to  think  less  of  the  main  range  than 
of  the  Sierra  Ncvadas,  because  the  railwa\'  has  sho\.'n  us  the  greatest  beauties  of  \\\^ 
latter.  But  there  is  not  a  false  pretence  about  them  ;  no  writer  has  exaggerated  in 
extolling  their  grandeur,  nor  even  adequately  described  it. 

The  chain  is  a  continuation  northward  of  the  Cordilleras  of  Central  America  and 
Mexico.  From  Mexico  it  continues  through  the  States  and  Territories  lying  bctwein 
the  Pacific  and  the  head-waters  of  the  streams  that  flow  into  the  Mississijjpi,  spreadinir 
over  an  area  of  one  thousand  miles  from  east  to  west.  Still  inclining  northward,  and 
still  broken  into  several  ranges,  it  passes  into  the  l?ritish  possessions  to  the  nonh,  tin' 
eastern  range  reaching  the  Arctic  Ocean  in  about  latitude  70°  north,  and  the  v.cst  n 
passing  ne;^-  the  coast,  and  ending  near  Prince  William's  Sound,  where  Mount  St.  I'.lias, 
in  latitude  60°,  stands  upon  the  borders  of  the  Paciiic,  at  the  height  of  seventeen  tluju- 
sand  eight  hundred  feet  above  the  sea-level. 

We  do  not  like  the  word  "  Backbone"  applied  to  the  mountains.  Let  us  rather 
call  them  the  Snow-Divide  of  the  continent,  or,  as  the  main  range  is  sometimes 
named,  the  Mother-Sierras.  Occasionally,  too,  they  are  called  the  Al|)s  of  America  In 
one  of  those  absurd  whims  of  literary  nomenclature  that  insist  upon  calling  New 
Orleans  the  Paris  of  America,  Saratoga  the  Wiesbaden  of  America,  and  Lake  (ieoi^a' 
the  Windermere  of  America,  just  as  though  we  had  nothing  distinctly  our  own,  and 
Nature  had  sim|>ly  duplicated  her  handiwork  across  the  seas  in  creating  the  jiresent  United 
States.  Tile  Rocky  Mountains  are  not  like  the  AI|)S,  and  in  some  things  they  surjiass 
them.  I'rom  the  summit  of  Mount  Lincoln,  near  Fairplay,  Colorado,  on  a  clear  dav. 
such  a  view  is  obt;Mned  as  you  cannot  find  on  the  highest  crests  of  the  Swiss  mmni- 
tains.  In  the  rear,  and  in  the  front,  the  peaks  ascend  so  thickly  that  Nature  seems  to 
have  here  striven  to  l)uild  a  dividing  wall  across  the  universe.  There  are  one  luimhcd 
and  thirty  of  them  not  less  than  thirteen  thousand  feet  high,  or  within  less  than  thru 
thousand  feet  of  Mont  Blanc;  and  at  least  fifty  over  fourteen  thousand  feet  liii;li. 
.^Vlmost  below  the  dome  on  which  we  stand,  we  can  see  a  low  ridge  across  a  \idl(\, 
separating  the  river  Platte,  leading  to  thi'  (iiilf  of  Mexico,  and  the  Blue  Uivei,  kadiny 
to  the  Gulf  of  California.  On  one  side  arc  the  famous  Gray's  and  I'vans's  IVaks,  scaiceiv 
noticeal)lc  among  a  host  of  equals;  Long's  Peak  is  almost  hidden  by  the  narrow  ridge; 
Pike's  is  very  distinct  and  striking.  Professor  Whitnev  has  very  truly  said,  and  we  have 
repeated,  that  no  such  view  as  this  is  to  be  obtained  in  Switzerland,  either  for  reai  h 
or  the  magnificence  of  the   included   heights.      Only   in   the   Andes  or   Himalayas   might 


nd  S(iuare  iiiilc^ 
the  ^rrealcsi  and 
he  iron  pathway 
lie  of  the  |H'aks 
diiifj  thorn  Irom 
main  rim^c  than 
beauties  of  the 
exaggerated    in 

ral  America  and 
s  lying  i)et\ve(.n 
issippi,  spreadinjT 
r  northward,  and 
;o  the  norlh,  the 
and  tiie  west  n 
Mount  St.  i:iias. 
seventeen   thou- 

Lel  us  rather 
re    is    sometimes 

of  America  hv 
)n  calling  New 
id  Lake  (iinr^e 
y  our  own,  and 
L'  present  I'liited 
ngs   they  surpass 

on  a  clear  day, 
lie  Swiss  moun- 
Vature  seems  lo 
are  one  hundied 

less  than  time 
usand  feet  hii^li. 
across  a  \alle\, 
.'  Kivcr,  kadini; 
s  IV-aks,  scarcely 
le  narrow  ridge; 
id,  and  we  have 
either  for  reach 
limalavas   miirht 


BOWLUEM    CANON 


486 


PIC TURESQUE    AMERICA. 


n 


\vc  see  its  e(]u;il.  Hut  it  is  also  true  that  one  misses  the  heauty  of  the  pure  Alpine 
mountains,  witii  the  srlaciers  streaminsj  down  their  sides.  The  snow  lies  ahi;  Jantlv  m 
lines,  and  banks,  and  masses  ;   yet   it  eovers  nothinjr. 

Even  anions  eminent    seientific    men    there    has    been    a    dense    ignorance   about   !he 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  especiallv  about    the    heights   of  the    several    peaks.      Until   uS;^ 


Frozen    Lake,    loot    nf  James's    Peak. 


only  i-'nall  areas  of  our  vast  'le'ritories  had  been  surveyed  and  accurately  mai)])ed.  Tlv 
greater  space  had  lucn  unnoticed,  and  uncarcd  for.  Hut  in  that  year  a  geological  ami 
geographical  survey  of  Colorado  was  made,  under  the  able  direction  of  Dr.  I".  \'.  llavddi; 
and  the  results  have  e.\ceeded  all  expectations.  The  posit mn  of  every  leading  peak  in 
thirty  thousand  ,s(|uare  miles  was  fixed  la.st  summer,  including  the  whole  region  bctwicn 
parallels  38"  and  40°  20'  north,  and  between  the  meridians   104°  ;,o'  and   107°  west.     The 


K-     1)UIV     Alpillc 

;    alu:    Jantly   in 

ance   about   the 
s.      Until   187;,, 


mai)iR'cl.     Tlv: 

ucological   and 

r.  !■■.  \'.  Ilavddi; 

Icadinjr   peak   in 

region   hctwicn 

io;°  west.    Tlic 


THE    ROCKY    MOrXTAINS. 


487 


irround  was  :'ivicled  into  tlircc  districts,  the  northern  district  including  the  Middle  Park, 
the  middle  district  including  the  South  Park,  and  the  southern  district  the  San-Luis 
I'uk.  In  these  three  districts  the  range  reveals  itself  as  one  of  the  grandest  in  the 
world,  reaching  its  greatest  elevations,  and   comprising   one   of  the  most   interesting  areas 


Oray  : 


L-uk. 


on 


the  continent.  ,\s  unscientific  |iersons,  we  owe  Professor  Ilayden  a  debt  of  gratitude 
fiir  rea.ssuring  us  that  the  ivockv  Mountains  are  all  our  forefathers  thought  tlieni,  and 
not  mythi'...'.  in  their  splendors.  llow  much  more  tiie  savants  owe  iiim,  we  will  not 
venture  to  sav.  We  ought  to  add,  iiowevi'r,  that  he  was  singularly  fortunate  in  unearth- 
ing, so  to  speak,  the  most  representative   scenery,  as   the    photographs    made    attest ;   and 


1'- 

: 

;■  if! 

488 


PIC  TURESO  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


'1  ta 

*  ■'3. 


(li  iisi 


present  or  prospective  travellers  cannot  do  better  than  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  his 
expedition,  as  we  mean  to  do  in  this  article. 

Early  in  May  we  are  far  north,  with  a  detachment  of  the  Haydcn  expedition,  en- 
camped in  the  Estes  Fark,  or  Valley.  Park,  by-the-way,  is  used  in  these  regions  as  a 
sort  of  variation  on  the  sweeter-sounding  word.  The  night  is  deepening  as  we  pitch 
our  tents.  We  are  at  the  base  of  Long's  Peak  —  about  half-way  between  Denver 
City  and  the  boundary-line  of  Wyoming  —  and  can  only  dimly  see  its  clear-cut  out- 
line and  graceful  crests,  as  the  last  hues  of  sunset  fade  and  depart.  Supper  con- 
soles us  after  our  long  day's  march  ;  we  retire  to  our  tents,  but  are  not  so  exhausted 
that  we  cannot  make  merry.  In  this  lonely  little  valley,  with  awful  chasms  and  hills 
around,  in  a  wilderness  of  glacier  creation,  scantily  robed  with  dusky  pine  and  hemlock, 
the  hearty  voice  of  our  expedition  breaks  many  slumbering  echoes  in  the  chilly  spring 
night.  A  void  is  filled.  A  man  on  the  heights,  looking  into  the  valley,  would  be  con- 
scious of  a  change  in  the  sentiment  of  the  scene.  The  presence  of  humanity  infuses  itself 
into  the  inanimate.  It  is  so  all  through  the  region.  Alone,  we  survey  the  magnificent 
reaches  of  mountain,  hill-side,  and  plain,  with  a  subdued  spirit,  as  on  the  brink  of  a 
grave.  Our  sympathies  find  vent,  but  not  in  hysterical  adulation.  Our  admiration  and 
wonder  are  mingled  with  a  degree  of  awe  that  restrains  expression.  It  would  be  much 
more  easy  to  go  into  ecstasies  over  the  home-like  view  from  the  summit  of  Mount 
Washington  than  over  j)eaks  that  are  more  than  twice  as  high,  and  incomparably  grander. 
There  are  brightness  and  life,  smooth  pastures  and  pretty  houses,  on  the  New-England 
mountain.  Out  here  there  are  waste,  ruggedness,  and  sombre  colors.  The  heart  of  man 
is  not  felt  ;  we  gaze  at  the  varied  forms,  all  of  them  massive,  most  of  them  beautiful, 
feeling  ourselves  in  a  strange  world.  The  shabby  hut  of  the  S(piatt('r,  and  straggling 
mining-camp,  deep  set  in  a  ravine,  are  an  inexpressible  relief;  and  so  our  white  tents, 
erected  tin  the  fertile  acres  of  the  Estes  Park,  throw  a  gleam  of  warmth  among  the 
snowy  sl()|)es,  and  impart  to  the  scene  that  something  without  which  the  noblest  countrv 
appears  dreary,  and  awakens  whatever  latent  grief  there  is  in  our  nature. 

IJetimes  in  the  nujrning  we  are  astir,  and  the  full  glory  of  tlie  view  bursts  upon  us. 
The  ])eak  is  the  most  prominent  in  the  front  range,  soaring  higher  than  its  brothers 
around  ;  and  we  have  seen  it  as  we  ajiproached  from  the  plains.  It  is  yet  too  earl\-  in 
the  season  for  us  to  attemjit  the  ascent ;  the  sno\  •  lies  more  than  half-way  down ;  but 
from  this  little  valley,  where  our  tents  are  pitelud,  we  have  one  of  tlu'  finest  views  jios- 
sible.  The  slopes  are  gentle  and  almost  unbroken  for  a  considerable  distance;  but, 
reaching  higher,  they  terminate  in  sharj),  serrated  lines,  edged  with  a  ribbon  of  silver 
light.  The  snow  is  not  distributed  evenly.  In  some  places  it  lies  thick,  and  others  are 
only  partly  covered  by  streaky,  map-like  patches,  revealing  the  heavy  color  of  the  ground 
and  rock  beneath.  A  range  of  foot-hills  of  clumsy  contour  leads  the  way  to  the  peaks 
which  mount   behind  them.      The  park   is  a  lovelv  spot,  sheltered,  tertile,  and  wooded.     It 


>   footsteps  of  his 

;n  expedition,  en- 
■hese  regions  as  a 
ling   as   wc    ])itch 

between    Denver 

its    elear-cut  out-       H  I 

It.  Supper  con- 
not    so    exhausted 

chasms  and  hills 
)inc  and  iiemlock, 

the  chilly  sprint; 
y,  would  be  con- 
anity  infuses  itself 
■y  the  magnificent 
1  the  brink  of  a 
ir  achniration  and 
t  would  be  much 
>ummit  of  Mount 
omparably  grander, 
the  New-England 
The  heart  of  man 
of  them  beautiful, 
ter,  and  straggling 
lo  our  white  tents, 
armth  among  the 
:ie  noblest  counliv 

IV. 

'w  l)ursts  upon  us. 
r  than  its  brothers 
s  yet  too  earh'  in 
alf-way  down  ;  but 
J  finest  views  pos- 
ble  distance  ;  but, 
a  ribbon  of  silver 
ck,  and  others  are 

•lor  of  the  ground 

way  to  the  peaks 
;,  and  wooded.     It 


■I  ^r; 


'at. 


^^ 


H 


■^ia&^. 


M 


m 


p 


490 


P/C  Tl  'RESQ UE    AMERICA. 


is  an  excellent  |xisti;re  for  large  herds  of  eattle,  and  is  used  for  that  purpose.  A  few 
families  are  also  settled  here;  and,  as  tiic  valLy  is  the  only  practicable  route  for  ascend- 
ing the  peak,  it  is  destined,  no  (loui)t,  to  I>econie  a  stopping-place  for  future  tourists,  li 
is  seven  tiiousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty-eight  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and 
si.x  thousand  three  hundred  feet  below  Long's  l^eak,  wnich  is  said  to  be  about  fourteen 
th.ousand  and  eighty-eight  feet  high.  Tlie  peak  is  composed  of  primitive  rock,  twi^kd 
and  torn  into  some  of  the  grandest  eaniMis  in  this  famed  country  of  canons.  While  \vi- 
remain  here,  we  are  constantl)  afoot.  Ti>e  naturalists  of  the  e.\i)cdition  are  overjoyed  a' 
their  good  fortune,  and  the  photograjihers  are  alert  to  catch  all  they  can  while  the  Ijuju 
lasts.  The  ^'ir  is  crisp,  joyous,  balsamic.  W\ !  that  we  might  never  be  left  alone  to  lu.ir 
the  secret  voice  and  the  dread  revelations  of  ihese  magnificent  spaces!  But  it  folldus 
us,  and  oppresses  us;  and  we  ;.re  never  safe  from  its  importunities  without  a  mirtiiful. 
unimpressionable  companion,  h  is  a  terrible  skeleton  in  the  closet  of  the  mor  lin,  and 
it  comes  forth  to  fill  us  with  dismay  and  grief 

Soon  we  are  on  the  march  again,  tramping  southward  through  stilly  vallcvs,  climbin^r 
monstrous  bowlders,  fording  .?now-fed  streams,  mounting  perilous  heights,  ilesccnding  awfnl 
chasms.  Everlasting  grandeur!  everlasting  hills!  Then,  fn.m  canons  amiost  as  great,  we 
enter  the  Bowlder  Cafion,  cut  deep  in  the  Metamor])h'c  rocks  t)f  foot-hills  for  seventeen 
miles,  with  walls  of  solid  rock  that  rise  i>recipitt)usly  to  a  height  of  three  thousand  fert  in 
many  places.  A  bubbling  stream  rushes  ilown  the  centre,  broken  in  its  course  by  clumsv- 
1  loking  rocks,  and  tlie  fallen  limbs  of  trees  tlKit  ha>e  been  wrenched  from  the  s|)arsc  soil 
and  mo^s  in  the  crevices.  The  water  is  disc(jloied  and  thick.  At  the  head  of  the  canon 
is  a  mining-settlement,  and  we  meet  sever;  '  horsemen  tiaversing  a  narrow  road  thai 
clings  to  the  walls — now  on  one  side,  and  tbeii,  k'aping  the  stream,  to  the  other.  Tlic 
pines,  that  find  no  haunt  too  drear,  and  no  soil  too  sterile,  liave  stri'H'ii  to  hide  liu 
nakedness  of  the  rocks;  but  many  a  branch  is  withered  .uid  deeiyed,  and  those  still  livini; 
are  dwarfed  and  sombre.  Bowlder  Ciiy,  at  (he  mouth  of  the  canon,  has  a  popuk'tion  dl 
about  fifteen  hundred,  and  is  the  centre  of  the  most  abundant  and  extensively  developed 
gold,  silver,  and  coal  mining  districts  in  the  Territorv.  Within  a  short  distance  fmin  it 
are  Clenlral  City,   Black   Ilawh,  and   (leorgetown. 

James's  IVak  comes  next  in  our  rouli',  and  at  its  foot  we  see  one  of  the  i)iett\ 
frozen  lakes  ihat  are  scati.red  all  ovei  the  range.  It  is  a  picturesque  and  wciid  yet  ten- 
derly sentimental  scene.  Mr.  Moran  h.is  caught  its  spirit  admirably,  and  his  picfuie  givc- 
a  fair  idea  of  its  beauty.  The  surface  is  as  smooth  as  a  niirn>r,  and  retlects  the  funereal 
filiage  and  snowv  robes  of  the  slopes  as  cleaiiv.  it  is  as  chaste  as  morning,  and  ui 
can  think  of  ice-goblins  chasing  underne.itli  the  f  ild'-:  of  virgin  snow  that  the  p.de  mnim 
light  fain'.ly  touches  and  bespangles.  The  while  rlress  of  llu'  mountain  hereabout  is  ini 
changed  the  year  round,  and  only  yields  tribute  to  the  summer  heat  in  thousands  of  iiitlt 
brooks,  that  gather  together  in  the  greater  streams.     The  lakes  (hemselves  are  small  basins. 


)urpose.  A  few 
■oute  for  asccnd- 
tiirc  tourists.  It 
of  tlic  SL'a,  and 
c  about  foiutc'cii 
ivf  rock,  twilled 
ions.  While  we 
are  overjoyed  a' 
,  while  the  lio;ht 
.'ft  alone  to  iuar 
But  it  follows 
lout  a  mirthful, 
le  mor     .lin,  and 

valleys,  climliing 
ilescendinjr  awful 
lost  as  great,  we 
lis  for  seventeen 
thousand  feet  in 
ourse  by  clumsy- 
n  the  sparse  soil 
•ad  of  the  caiion 
arrow  road  that 
the  other.  The 
en  to  hide  the 
those  still  livina; 
a  |)o|)ul;'tion  of 
isively  developed 
distance  frnni  it 

le  of  the  pretty 
id  weiid  yet  ten- 
his  pictuie  ^ives 
Iccts  the  funereal 
morning,  and  wt 

the  pale  inoon- 
hereahout  is  lui- 
housands  of  little 

are  small  basins, 


if 


492 


PICTURBSQUE    AMERICA. 


II  i 


not  more  than  two  or  three  acres  in  extent,  and  are  ice-locked  and  snow-bound  until  ti:e 
summer  is  Air  advanced. 

Vou  shall  not  b<;  wearied  by  a  detailed  story  of  our  route,  or  of  the  loutine  of  diu 
camp.  We  are  on  the  wing  pretty  constantly,  the  phototjraphers  and  naturalists  working 
with  exemplary  zeal  in  adding  to  their  collections.  We  are  never  away  from  the  nidun- 
tains,  and  never  at  a  spot  devoid  of  beauty.  In  the  morning  we  climb  a  hill,  and  in 
the  evening  march  down  it.  .^Vnon  we  are  under  the  looming  shadows  of  a  steep  |)iiss 
or  ra\Mne,  and  then  our  eyes  are  refreshed  in  a  green  valley — not  such  a  valley  as  usts 
at  the  foot  of  Aljjine  hills,  but  one  that  has  not  been  transformed  by  the  cultivator — a 
waste  to  Eastern  eyes,  but  a  paradise,  compared  with  the  more  rugged  forms  aniiind, 
We  are  not  sure  that  "beauty  unadorned  is  adorned  the  most"  in  this  instance.  A  few 
hedge-rows  liere  and  there,  a  white  farm-house  on  yonder  knoll,  a  level  patch  of  moist, 
brown  earth  freshly  plouglicd,  and  a  leafy,  loaded  orchard,  might  change  the  sentiment 
of  the  thing,  but  would  not  make  it  less  beautiful. 

We  (Micounter  civilization,  modified  by  the  conditions  of  frontier  life,  in  the  h:-.|)pilv- 
situated  little  city  of  Georgetown,  which  is  in  a  direct  line  running  westward  from  IXincr 
City,  the  starting- jioint  of  tourist  mountaineers.  A  great  many  of  you  have  been  theic, 
using  its  hotel  as  a  base  of  operations  in  mountaineering.  It  is  locked  in  a  valkv  sur- 
rounded by  nir-reaching  granite  hills,  with  the  silver  libbon  of  Clear  Creek  Hashing  its 
way  through,  and  forests  of  evergreens  soaring  to  the  ridges.  A  pre\'ious  traveller  has  well 
said  that  Europe  has  no  |)lace  to  compare  with  it.  It  is  live  thousand  feet  higher  than 
the  glacier-walled  vale  of  the  Chainouni,  and  even  higher  than  the  snow-girt  lu)s|)ice 
of  Saint- IJernard.  Roundabout  are  wonderful  "bits"  of  Nature,  and,  from  liie  vallci 
itself,  we  make  the  ascent  of  Cray's  Peak  the  mountain  that,  of  all  others  in  the  land, 
we  have  heard  tiie  most.  We  toil  up  a  winding  road,  meetirig  plenty  of  company,  of  a 
rough  sort,  on  the  way.  There  are  many  silver-mines  in  ilu'  neighborhood,  and  we  aKu 
meet  heavily-laden  wagons,  full  of  t)re,  driven  b\'  laboi-stained  men.  The  air  grows 
clearer  and  thinner;  we  leave  behind  the  forests  of  aspen,  and  ate  now  among  the  pines, 
silver-firs,  and  spruces.  At  last  we  enter  a  valley,  and  see  afar  a  majestic  peak,  which 
we  imagine  is  our  destination.  We  are  wrong.  Ours  is  yet  higher,  so  we  ride  on,  the 
horses  panting  and  the  men  restless.  The  forest  still  glows  thinner;  the  trees  smalUr. 
Helow  us  are  the  successive  valleys  through  which  wc  have  come,  and  above  us  tlie 
snowy  Sierras,  tinted  with  the  colors  of  the  sky.  Twelve  thousand  feet  above  the  live! 
of  the  sea  we  reach  the  Stevens  silver-mine,  the  highest  point  in  Colorado  where  niininij 
is  carried  on,  and  then  we  pass  the  limit  of  tree-life,  where  oidy  Iwaifiil  forms  i»f  .Alpine 
or  arctic  vegetation  exist.  A  Hock  of  white  partridges  flutter  away  a'  our  coming,  .md 
two  or  three  conics  snarl  at  us  from  their  nests  underneath  the  rocks.  Higher  yd  I 
Hreathless  and  fatigued,  we  mm'  our  poor  beasts  on  in  the  narrow,  almost  hidden  trail. 
and  are  lewarded  in  due  lime  by  a  safe  arrival  at  uur  goal. 


bound  until  tiie 

;  routine  of  our 
uialists  working 
Voni  the  nioun- 
J  a  hill,  and  in 
f  a    steep    jniss 

valley  as  rests 
he  cultivator— a 

forms  around, 
iistance.  A  few 
patch  of  moist, 

tile    sentiment 


iti 


1 1 


ERODED    SANDSTONES,     MONUMIlNT     ^•AHK 


494 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


\ir<-s 


\\ 


\;  1 


Foremost  in  the  view  are  the  twin  peaks,  Gray's  and  Torrcy's ;  but,  in  a  vast  area 
that  seems  limitless,  there  arc  successive  rows  of  i)innacles,  some  of  them  entinly 
wrapped  in  everlasting  snow,  others  ])atched  with  it,  some  abrupt  and  pointed,  others  reach- 
ing their  climax  by  soft  curves  and  gradations  that  arc  almost  imperceptible.  We  are  on 
the  crest  of  a  continent — on  thi;  brink  of  tiiat  Xew  World  wh^ch  '^gassiz  has  told  .is 
is  the  Old.  The  man  who  could  resist  tiie  emotion  called  forth  by  the  scene,  is  not 
among  our  rcatlcrs,  we  sincerely  hope.  There  is  a  sort  of  enclosure  some  feet  beneath 
the  very  summit  of  Gray's  Peak,  or,  to  speak  more  exactly,  a  valley  surrounded  by  walls 
of  snow,  dotted  by  occasional  bowlders,  and  sparsely  covered  with  dwarfed  vegetation. 
Here  we  encamp  antl  light  our  hres,  and  smoke  our  j)ii)es.  while  our  minds  are  in  a 
trance  o\er  the  superb  reach  before  us. 

Not  very  many  years  ago  it  was  a  common  thing  to  find  a  deserted  wagon  on  the 
plains,  with  some  skeleton  men  and  two  skeleton  horses  not  (;ir  off.  A  story  is  told  that, 
in  one  case,  the  tarjiaulin  was  inscribed  with  the  words  "  Pike's  Peak  or  Bust."  Pike's 
Peak  was  then  an  El  Dorado  to  the  immigrants,  who,  in  adventurously  seeking  it,  often 
fell  victims  on  tlie  gore-stained  ground  of  the  Sioux  Indians.  Foremost  in  the  range,  it 
was  the  most  visible  from  the  plains,  and  was  as  a  star  or  beacon  to  the  travellers 
approaching  the  mountains  from  the  east.  Thither  we  are  now  bound,  destined  to 
call,  on  the  way,  at  the  Chicago  Lakes,  Monument  Paik,  and  the  Garden  of  the 
Gods.  Chicago  Lakes  lie  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Nosaiie,  still  farther  south,  and  are  the 
source  of  Chicago  Creek.  They  are  high  upon  tlie  mountain,  at  the  verge  of  the  tim- 
ber-line, and  that  shown  in  Mi.  Moran's  picture  has  an  elevation  of  neatly  twelve  llion- 
sand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  Mount  Rosalie,  ridged  with  snow,  and  very  rugged 
in  appearance,  terminates  two  thousand  two  bundled  feet  higher.  Another  lake,  as 
smooth  and  lovely  as  this,  and  of  about  the  same  size,  is  found  near  by,  ami  twelve 
more  are  scattered,  like  so  many  patches  of  silver,  in  the  \icinit\-.  'I'h.e  water  comes 
from  the  snow,  and  is  cool  and  refreshing  on  the  hottest  summer  davs.  Trout  are  abun- 
dant in  the  streams,  and  allure  manv  travellers  over  a  terribly  bad  road  from  George- 
town. .Monument  Park  is  probably  more  familiar  to  you  than  other  points  in  our  route. 
It  is  idled  with  fantastic  groups  of  eroded  sandstone,  perhaps  the  most  unicpie  in  tin 
Western  country,  where  tlure  are  so  manv  evidences  of  Nature's  curious  whims.  If  oiu 
should  imagine  a  great  number  of  gigantic  sugar-loaves,  quite  irregular  in  shape,  but  all 
showing  the  t.ipering  form,  varying  in  height  bnm  six  feet  to  nearly  fifty,  with  each  loiit 
capped  by  a  dark,  Hat  stone,  not  unlike  in  shape  to  a  college-student's  hat,  he  would 
have  a  very  cleai  vlea  of  the  columns  in  Monument  Park.  They  are  for  the  most  put 
ranged  along  the  low  hills  on  each  side  of  the  |)ark,  which  is  probably  a  mile  wide,  but 
here  and  there  one  stands  out  in  the  o|)en  plain.  On  one  or  two  little  knolls,  apiii 
from  the  hills,  numbers  of  these  columns  are  grouped,  producing  the  exact  effect  ot 
cemeteries  with  ibeir  white-marble  lolumns.     The  stone  is  very   light   in  color. 


V- « 


It,  in  a  vast  area 
)1'  them  ciuinlv 
ted,  others  rcacli- 
l)le.  \Vc  arc  on 
issiz  has  told  .is 
he  scene,  is  not 
iiic  feet  beneath 
ountled  by  walls 
arfed  vegetation, 
minds   are   in  a 

d  wagon  on  the 
tory  is  told  tliat, 
)r  Bust."  Pike's 
seeking  it,  oitcn 
in  the  range,  it 

0  the  travellers 
nd,  destined  to 
Garden  of  tiu 
ith,  and  are  the 
ie  of  the  ti in- 
ly twelve  tlmn- 
nd  \ery  nigged 
lothcr    lake,   as 

by,  and  twelvi 

<    water  comes 

"rout   are  abini- 

from   (ieorgc- 

[s  in  our  route. 

uni(iue  in  tin 

whims.     If  OIK 

1  shape,  but  all 
with  each  loaf 

hat,  he  would 
the  most  part 
mile  wide,  Imt 
e  knolls,  apaii 
.\act  efifeet  of 
lor. 


in 


496 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


W.. 


w 


Once  more  we  are  on  our 
way,  and  still  in  the  nioinit^iins. 
We  linger  a  while  in  the  Garden 
of  the  Gods,  which  is  five  miles 
northwest  of  Colorado  Springs,  as 
you  will  sec  hy  referring  to  a  nKip, 
among  the  magnificent  forms  tliat 
in  some  places  resemble  those  we 
have  already  seen  in  Moniniunt 
Park.  There  arc  some  prominent 
cliffs,  loo;  but  they  are  not  so  in- 
teresting as  others  that  we  have 
seen,  and  are  simply  horizontal 
strata,  thrown  by  some  convulsion 
into  a  perpendicular  position.  At 
the  "gateway"  we  are  between  two 
precipitous  walls  of  sandstone,  two 
hundred  feet  a])art,  and  three  iiun- 
dred  and  fifty  feet  high.  St n  idl- 
ing afar  is  a  gently- sloping  loot- 
hill,  and,  beyond  that,  in  the  (li"-- 
lance,  we  have  a  glimpse  of  the 
faint  snow  -  line  of  Pike's  I'eak. 
The  scene  is  strangely  impressive. 
The  walls  form  almost  an  aiiiphi- 
theatre,  enclosing  a  jiatch  of  level 
earth.  In  the  foreground  there  is 
an  embankment  consisting  of  ap- 
parentlv  detached  rocks,  some  of 
them  distorted  into  imislirooni- 
shape,  and  others  secreting  shallow 
pools  of  watiT  in  llH'ii  daiklini; 
hollows.  The  foliage  is  scarce  ,inil 
deeitluous  ;  gloomily  jiathetie.  .\ 
rock  rises  midway  between  the 
walls  at  the  gateway,  and  else- 
where in  the  garden  tlieii'  are 
monumental  forms  thai  lemind  us 
of   liic    valley  of    the    Vellowstuiic. 


THE    ROCKY   MOUNTAINS. 


497 


we    are    on    our 
the    mountiiins. 
:    in  the  Garden 
:h    is    five   miles 
)rack)  SprinjTs,  as 
.•rring  to  a  miip, 
iccnt   forms    that 
icmhle   those  we 
ill    Moiuinunt 
some    prominent 
v  are  not  so  in- 
>   that    we    have 
iiply    horizontal 
ome    convulsion 
ir  position.     At 
ire  hetween  two 
sandstone,  two 
and  three  liim- 

lii.yii.     Slivteh- 
y-slopiiifr   idot- 

JKit,  in    the   ili',- 
giimpse    of  the 
>!'    Pike's    I'eak.       ] 
^ely  impressive. 
Host    an  aniphi- 

pateh  of  le\il 
Ljround  tiicie  is 
insisting  of  aj)- 
roeks,  some  of 
to  imisliKiom- 
?crctinjr  sliallow 

llieir  daikliiiij 
:e  is  scaiee  and 
\-  pathelie.  .\ 
1  let  ween  I  he 
vay,  and  i  Ke- 
den  there  are 
I  hat  remind  us 
e    Yellowstone. 


Teocalli  Mniintain. 


F'ike's  Peak,  seen  from  tlic  walls,  is  about  ten  miles  off  It  forms,  with  its  spurs,  the 
southeastern  bountlary  of  the  South  I'ark.  ll  offers  no  great  difficulties  in  the  ascent, 
and  a  good  trail  for  horses  has  been  made  to  the  summit,  wlieie  an  "Old  Probabilities" 
has  stationed  an  officer  to  forecast  the  coming  storms. 

Now  we  bear  away  to  Faiiplay,  where  we  join  the  principal  division  of  the  e.\pcdi- 
lion,  and  thence  we  visit  together  Mount  Lincoln,  Western  Pass,  the  Twin  Lakes,  and 
other  points  in  the  valley  of  the  Arkansas;  cross  the  National  or  Mother  range  into 
the  Elk  Mountains  ;  proceed  uj)  the  Arkansas  and  bevond  its  head-waters  to  the  Mount 
of  the  Holy  Cross.  We  are  exhausting  our  space,  not  our  subject,  and  we  can  only 
describe  at  length  a  few  spots  in    the    magnificent   eountrv  included  in  our  itineiar)'.      At 


I         i 


ip[  i. 


4q8 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


Ms 


the  bet^iniiintr  \vc  spoke  about  Mount  Lincoln,  and  the  glorious  view  obtained  from  its 
summit.  When  named,  during  the  war,  tiiis  peak  was  thought  to  be  eighteen  thousand 
feet  iiigh,  but  more  recent  measurements  have  brought  it  down  to  about  fourteen  thou- 
sand feet — lower,  in  f\\ct,  than  Pike's,  Gray's,  Long's,  Vale,  or  Harvard,  the  highest  of  which 
has  yet  to  be  determined.  But  its  summit  commands  points  in  a  region  of  country 
nearly  twenty-five  thousand  square  miles  in  extent,  embracing  the  grandest  natural  beau- 
ties, a  bewildering  reach  of  peaks,  valleys,  cafions,  rivers,  and  lakes.  We  lind,  too,  dii 
Mount  Lincoln,  some  lovely  .Alpine  flowers,  which  grow  in  profusion  even  on  the  \ery 
summit,  and  are  of  nearly  every  color  and  great  fragrance.  Professor  J.  13.  Whitiuv, 
who  acjompanied  the  expedition,  i)icked  several  sweetly -smelling  bunches  of  delicate 
l)lue-bells  within  five  feet  of  tiie  dome  of  Mount  Lincoln.  These  tender  little  plants  are 
chilled  every  night  to  freezing,  and  tlraw  all  their  nourishment  from  the  frcshly-inelieil 
snow. 

Heretofore  we  have  spoken  complainingly,  it  may  seem,  of  the  sombre  qualitv  of 
all  we  have  seen,  and  its  deficient  power  of  evoking  human  sympathy.  But  at  the 
Twin  Lakes  we  have  no  more  occasion  for  morbid  brooding,  but  a  chance  *;o  go  inio 
healthy  ra])tures,  and  to  admire  .some  tender,  almost  pastural  scenery.  The  course  of  the 
Arkansas  River  is  southward  hereabout,  touching  the  base  of  the  central  chain  of  I  ho 
mountains.  So  it  continues  f(.)r  one  hundred  miles,  then  branching  eastward  toward  the 
Mississippi.  In  the  lower  j)art  of  the  southward  course  the  valle\-  expands,  and  is  Ixn- 
dered  on  tiie  east  by  an  irregular  mass  of  low,  broken  iiill-ranges,  and  on  tlie  west  bv  the 
central  range.  Twenty  miles  above  this  point  the  banks  are  closely  confnieil,  and  fimi 
a  very  pictures(iue  gorge;  still  t'urlher  above  they  again  expand,  and  here  are  nestled 
the  beautiful  Twin  Lakes.  The  larger  is  about  two  and  a  half  miles  long  and  a  mile  and 
a  half  wiile  ;  the  smaller  about  half  that  size.  At  the  upper  end  they  are  girt  by  steep 
and  rugged  heights  ;  below  they  are  bounded  by  undulating  hills  of  gravel  and  bowl- 
ders. A  broad  stream  connects  the  two,  and  then  hurries  down  the  ])lain  to  join  ami 
swell  the  Arkansas.  Our  illustration  tloes  not  exaggerate  the  ciiaste  beauty  of  the  upper 
lake,  the  smaller  of  the  two.  The  contour  of  the  surrounding  hills  is  marvelloush 
varied  :  here  softly  curving,  and  yonder  soaring  to  an  abrupt  i)eak.  In  some  things  it 
transports  us  to  the  western  Highlands  of  Scotland,  and,  as  witii  their  waters,  its  depths 
are  swarming  with  the  most  delicately  flavored,  the  most  spirited  and  largest  trout. 
Sportsmen  come  here  in  considerable  numbers;  and  not  the  least  charming  object  to  ho 
met  on  the  banks  is  an  absorbed,  contemplative  man,  seated  on  some  glacier-throwu 
bowlder,  with  his  slender  rod  poised  and  bending  gracefully,  and  a  pretty  wicker  basket, 
half  hidden  in  the  moist  grass  at  his  side,  ready  for  the  gleaming  fisii  that  tlaunls  his 
gorgeous  colors   in  the  steadily-lapping  waters. 

Wc  advance  from  the  Twin  Lakes  into  the  very  heart  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
and  sojourn  in  a  (piiet  little  valley  while  the  working-force  of  tiie  e.xi)edition  explores  the 


itaincd  from  its 
htccn  thousand 
foiirteon  tlioii- 
igiiost  of  which 
ion  of  counlrv 
it  natural  hiau- 
c  find,  too,  on 
n  on  tlie  viry 
J.  D.  WhitiuT, 
hcs  of  dfliciUc 
little  plants  ,iir 
;    fix'shly-nichrd 

ihrc  (|uality  of 
V.  But  at  thr 
ICC  'o  go  inio 
c  course  of  thr 
al  chain  of  tiir 
ard  towartl  the 
ds,  and  is  Ikh- 
iu'  west  liv  ihf 
lined,  and  iorin 
ere  arc  ncsllcd 
and  a  mile  and 
•e  girt  by  steep 
avel  and  howl- 
lin  to  join  and 
ly  of  the  upiHi 
is  marvellonsl\ 
sonic  thiiiii's  it 
Ucrs,  its  depths 
1  larjicst  trout, 
ijii  object  to  111' 
f^lacicr-thrown 
wicker  basket, 
that    Haunts  lii'- 

:ky  Mountains, 
in  explores  the 


500 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


neighboring  country.     Two  summits  arc  asccntlcd   from  our  station,  one  of  them  a  roi.r.d 
peal:    of  granite,  full     fourteen    thousand    feet    above    the    level    of  the    sea,    and    onlv    to 

be  reached  by  assiduous  and  tiresome 
scrambling  over  fractured  rocks.  jliis 
we  name  La  Plata.  We  are  on  the 
grandest  uplift  on  the  continent,  Pro- 
fessor Whitney  believes.  The  range  is 
ot  unswerving  direction,  rinnMug  noilh 
and  south  for  nearly  a  hundred  miles, 
and  is  broken  into  countless  jieaks 
o\er  twelve  thousand  feet  high.  It  is 
|)enetrated  i)y  deep  ravini's,  which  lur- 
nierl)'  sent  gri'at  glaciers  into  the  val- 
ley ;  it  is  composi'd  of  granite  and 
erupti\e  rocks.  The  northernmost  point 
is  the  Moiuit  of  the  Holy  Cross,  and 
that  we  shall  visit  soon.  Advancing 
again  through  magnificent  upland  mead- 
ows and  am|)hilheatres,  we  come  at 
last  to  i\ed-Mountain  Pass,  so  named 
from  a  curious  line  of  light  near  the 
summit,  marked  for  half  a  mile  with 
a  brilliant  crimson  stain,  verging  into 
\'ellow  from  the  o.xidation  of  iron  in 
the  volcanic  material.  The  effect  of 
this,  as  mav  be  imagined,  is  woiidei- 
fulh'  beaut ifid.  I'hence  we  traverse  sev- 
eral ra\iiu'S  in  the  shadow  of  the  im- 
posing granite  moimtains,  enter  fre-h 
\alK'vs,  and  contemplate  fresh  wondeis 
The  aident  geologists  of  the  e.\|iedi- 
tion.  e\er  aleit,  discover  one  day  a 
ledge  of  limestone  containing  corals, 
and  soon  we  are  in  a  region  filled 
with  enormous  and  surprising  develop- 
ments of  that  iviaterial.  We  pitch  oiii 
tents  near  the  base  of  .m  immeii''i' 
pyramid,  capped  witli  layers  of  red  sandstone,  which  we  name  Teoealli,  from  ilie 
Aztec    wf)rd,    meaning    "pyramid    of    sacrifice."        The    view    from    our    camp    is  —  we 


lOlk-rakc   Cascade. 


I 


I'   ' 


if  tli(;m  a  mi.nd 
;a,  and  onlv  to 
IS  and  tircsoiiK' 
I'd  rocks.  'I'lijs 
^Vc    arc    on    ihc 

contini'nt,  I'm- 
s.  The  ranyc  is 
,  runninir  noiih 
I  InindiTd  niiks, 
jountk'ss  peaks 
"cot  hiirii.  It  is 
•incs,  whicii  liir- 
rs  into  the  \:il- 
of  .liianilc  and 
thcrnniost  point 
loly  Cfoss,  and 
)n.  Advancintr 
nt  npland  nicad- 
;,  \vc  come  at 
Pass,  so  named 

li_£jlu    near   tiie 

r  a  mile  with 
n,  vci<iin<i-  ini<i 
l:ion  of  iniii  in 
I'lic  ctTect  of 
led,  is  wondei- 
ve  traveise  <c\- 
o\v  of  the  i in- 
ns, cntcf  fie-h 
fresh  wonder-. 
of  the    expedi- 

cr  one  day  a 
ilaiiung  corals, 
a  letjion  fdled 
)iisinjf  de\el((|i- 
Wc   |)itcli  mil 

f  ,ni  immense 
calli,    from    ih( 

camp    is  —  ue 


MOUNTAIN     OF     THE     HOLY     CROSS. 


d 


.    ;!: 


503 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


5i  \ 


1 


sliould  say  siirpassinjj,  could  we  remember  or  decide  wliich  of  ,ill  the  beauties  we  have  is 
the  efrandcst.  Two  hills  incline  toward  the  valley  where  we  are  stationed,  ultimatilv 
fallin<r  into  each  other's  arms,  lietween  their  shoulders  there  is  a  broad  fj^ap,  and,  in  ihc 
rear,  the  majestic  form  of  the  Teocalli  reaches  to  heaven. 

In  the  distance  we  have  seen  two  mountains  which  are  tem]K)rariIy  called  Snow- 
Alass  and  Ulack  i'yramid.  The  first  of  these  we  are  now  ascendinjj.  It  is  a  tenililv 
hard  road  to  travel.  The  slopes  consist  of  masses  of  immense  granitic  fragments,  the 
rock-bed  fron.  which  they  came  appearing  only  occasionally.  When  we  reach  the  crest, 
we  find  it  also  broken  and  cleft  in  masses  and  pillars.  Professor  W'iiitney  ingeniously 
reckons  that  an  industrious  man,  with  a  crow-bar,  could,  by  a  week's  industrious  exertion, 
reduce  the  height  of  the  mountain  one  or  two  hundred  feet.  Some  of  the  members  of 
the  expedition  amuse  themselves  by  the  experiment,  lop])ling  over  great  fragments, 
which  thunder  down  the  slojies,  and  furrow  the  wide  snow-fields  below.  It  is  this  snow- 
lield  which  forms  the  characteri:itic  feature  of  the  mountain  as  seen  in  the  distance. 
There  is  aiiout  a  square  mile  of  unbroken  white,  and,  lower  down  still,  a  lake  of  hluc 
water.  A  little  to  the  northward  of  Snow-Mass,  the  range  rises  into  another  yet  greater 
mountain.  The  twt)  are  known  to  miners  as  "  The  Twins,"  although  they  are  not  at  all 
alike,  as  the  provisional  names  we  bestowed  upon  thein  indicate.  After  mature  delibera- 
tion the  expedition  rechristen  them  the  White  House  and  the  Capitol,  under  wliicli 
names  we  sujipose  they  will  be  familiar  to  future  generations.  Not  a  great  distance 
from  here,  leading  down  the  mountain  from  Elk  Lake,  is  a  jjicturesque  cascade,  that 
finds  its  way  thiough  dee])  gorges  and  canons  to  the  Rio  (irande. 

The  Mountain  of  the  IIolv  Cross  is  next  reached.  This  is  the  most  celebrated 
mountain  in  the  region,  but  its  height,  which  has  been  over-estimated,  is  not  more  than 
fourteen  thousand  feet.  The  ascent  is  exceedingly  toilsome  even  for  inured  mountaineers, 
and  I  might  give  you  an  interesting  chapter  describing  the  difTiculties  that  beset  us. 
There  is  a  very  beautiful  peculiarity  in  the  mountain,  as  its  name  shows.  The  princijjal 
peak  is  comjiosed  of  gneiss,  and  the  cross  fractures  of  the  rock  on  the  eastern  slope 
have  made  two  great  fissures,  which  cut  into  one  another  at  right  angles,  and  hold  their 
snow  in  the  form  of  a  cross  the  summer  long. 


ities  we  have  is 
oned,  ultiniauly 
ynp,  and,  in  liiu 

ly  called  Snow- 
It  is  a  teriilily 
':  fragments,  the 
reach  the  crest, 
tney  ingeniously 
strious  exert  1(111, 
the  members  of 
jreat  fragments. 
It  is  this  snow- 
in  the  distance. 
,  a  lake  of  blue 
)ther  yet  greater 
■y  are  not  at  all 
mature  delil)eia- 
ol,  under  which 
I  great  distnr.ce 
ue  cascade,  tliat 

most    celebrated 

not  more    tiian 

'd  mountaineers, 

;   that    beset    us. 

The  ])rinci|)al 

e    eastern    slope 

and  hold  their 


THE    CA5JONS    OF    THE    COLORADO. 


WITH       I.l.USTKATIONS     liV     THOMAS     .MOKAN'. 


N 


ONE  ol  the  works  of  Nature 
on  the  American  Continent, 
where  many  tilings  are  dmie  by  her 
upon  a  scale  of  grandeur  elsewhere 
unknown,  approach  in  r.,..gnificence 
and  wonder  the  caFions  of  the  Colo- 
rado. The  river-system  of  the  Colo- 
rado is,  in  extent  of  area  drained,  the 
second  or  third  in  tiie  I'nited  States. 
The  drainage  of  the  Mississip])i  is,  of 
course,  far  more  extensive,  and  tiie 
drainage  of  tiie  Columi)ia  is  nearly 
eipial,  or  perhaits  a  little  ^i^'ater.  It 
characteristic  of  the  Colorado  that  nearly  all  the 
cams  which  unite  to  form  it,  or  which  flow  into 
it,  arc  confined  in  deep  and  narrow  gorges,  witli 
walls  often  perpendicular.  Sometimes  the  walls  rise  directly  from 
the  water's  edge,  so  that  there  is  only  roon^  between  for  the  ])as- 
sage  of  the  stream.  In  other  places,  the  bottoms  of  the  gorges  widen 
out  into  valleys,  through  which  roads  may  pass  ;  and  sometiines  they  contain  small  tracts 
of  arable  land.  For  the  most  part,  the  walls  of  the  canons  of  the  Colorado-River  system 
are  not  above  a  few  hundred  feet  in  height  ;  and  yet,  there  are  more  than  a  thousand 
miles  of  canons  where  they  rise  ten  or  twelve  hundred  feet  in  perpendicular  cliffs.  The 
Grand  Canon,  which  Major  Powell  calls  "  the  most  profound  chasm  known  on  the 
plobe,"  is,  for  a  distance  of  over  two  hundred  miles,  at  no  point  less  than  four  thousand 
feet  deep. 

The  Green  River,  which  is  familiar  to  every  person  who  has  passed  over  the  Union 
Facilic  Railroad,  is  one  of  the  princijjal  sources  of  the  Colorado.  The  first  successful 
attempt  to  explore  the  Grand  Cafion  was  made  by  Major  J.  \V.  Powell,  in  i86g.  He 
reached  it  then  by  descending  the  Green  River  with  boats,  built  in  Chicago,  and  carried 
l)v  rail  to  Green-River  Station.  lie  aecom|)lished  the  voyage  of  nearly  a  thousand  miles 
in  three  months,  one  month  being  occupied  in  the  passage  of  the  Grand  Canon.  Father 
Escalantc  had  seen  the  Colorado  in  1776,  and  the  map  which  he  constructed  shows 
clearly  the  point  at  which    he    crossed.     Fremont  and  Whipple  had  seen  the  cafion  ;  and 


504 


riL ■  Ti -RF.sn ' '/■:   .  \mi-.rica. 


J    I  ■ 


1  J 


I\('s,  in  his  i'.\iH(!iti()n  of  i>'57  and  1S5S,  saw  llu'  Kanal),  one  of  its  larcist  branchis, 
wiiicli  JK'  mistook  toi  the  (Irand  ("anon  itself.  I5iit,  ]iie\ioiis  to  Major  I'owell's  \'o\.in( 
of  i^xploration,  tlie  cunise  (,{  a  j.Meat  |tait  of  tin'  riwr  was  as  littli  Unown  as  tlie  sources 
of  tiie  Nile;  ami  tlie  aceoiuits  of  tlu'  wondeis  of  the  (iiand  Cation  weri'  held  l)\  ninn 
to  lie  rathiT  nnthieal.  and  yieatU'  e,\aui_aTate(l. 

The  ( 'olorado  is  loinied  li\  the  junetion  of  the  (irand  and  (iii'en  Rixx'is  in  llic 
eastern  part  of  I'tah.  The  distanee  from  (ireen-River  Station,  li\  the  e<iiirse  of  ihi' 
rixer.  to  the  jinietion  of  the  two  streams,  is  fom'  hundred  lift\-eiiilit  and  a  half  niiic- 
The  eailo'is  lieuin  \ei',  soon  alter  li'a\  uil;'  the  railit)ad,  and  in  the  stales  named  .iic 
I'lamini;  ("lOiue,  Kinylisher,  and  Red  Cations,  Cation  of  l,odon',  Whirlpool  and  \'aiii|i,i 
Cafions,  C.inon  'f  Dt'soiuion,  Ciia\'.  Lahxiinth,  Stillwater,  Cataratt,  Xaridw,  (ilen,  ,iinl 
Mailik'  ( 'ailons.  I-"..ieli  has  some  |)eeiili.ir  eharaeteristie,  wliieli.  in  most  instanees,  is  imlj- 
eated  1)\-  the  name.  Thert'  is  ^cneiMlh-  no  liti'.ik  in  the  w  Uls  lietwi'en  the  dilleniu 
eailons,  the  li\  isions  lieinii  marked  1)\'  rem,nkal)le  elianues  in  tln-ir  ticoloiiieal  sIiluiiik 
rile  eailons  whose  names  ahove  |)ieeede  Catar.iet.  are  on  (ireen  Rixcr  liilore  it  joins  ilu 
waters  of  the  Ciiand. 

Lal)\rinlh  is  one  of  the  lower  e.ulons  of  the  Ciiceii  I'Jiver.  It  is  a  wide  an<l  lie,iiiii- 
ful  e.nlon,  with  eom|),ir.iii\el\-  low  w.dls,  1  i.'  |ierp"ndieulai  and  impassable.  Indeetl,  l:nni 
(iminison's  ('lovsin^.  one  hundred  .nid  si.\te(  n  niik's  al'o\e  tlu'  junetion  of  tl;e  Cii.ind 
,ind  (ireen.  to  the  mnninii  out  of  the  (iianil  ('.iilun,  ,1  dist.inee  of  live  luniilred  I'iuliH- 
se\en  ,uid  a  hall  miles,  then  ;ue  onl\  two  pl.iees,  ,md  lhe\  ,ire  not  more  than  ,1  inih 
.i|)art,  Willi;  the  ri\x-r  .ind  its  I'h.isni  e.in  he  iio^sed.  At  one  point  in  l.,di\rintli  C.inun 
till'  liver  makes  .1  lonu  WwA,  in  the  how  of  wliieli  it  sweeps  around  .1  lui,i;x'  einnLii 
hiiltc.  whose  'e^ulai  .nid  nei  pendieukir  w.ills  look  ;'.s  tlioiiL;li  tliev  ini^ht  li,uc  hei'ii  I, ml 
by  a  laee  of  ^iant  er.il! -iiI'MI.  \\  a  di^t  iiiee  the  piN  resemblt  .  a  \ast,  turret-shaped  Im- 
tress,  deserted  and  paitb  biokeii  d(  wii.  This  point  in  the  ii\ei  is  e.illed  Hoiiita  Hi,  I 
and  ,1  \i(  w  of  it  has  ln-en  di,iwn  b\'  Mr.  Moi.in  lioiii  |iholoL;ia|ihs  taken  b\'  Mijiii 
I'owcH's  paitv.  The  w.itias  in  this  e.iilon  ari-  smooth  ind  sho.il,  .mil  alloidiil  ll;.'  t  \- 
pioii'rs,  lor  main  mill's,  a  iii.itelul  lesi  from  the  toil  .md  d.inyer  of  shootiiiL;  i.i|iids.  w 
m.ikiiii.;   we.iiisome   poil.iires  of  the   boats. 

The.   juiuiioii   of   the    (Irand    and  (ireen     Rivers    biinirs    to),>cilu'r    a    llood    of  w.iici-- 
about   eipial   in   miIuiiu'  to  tlu'   How  of    \'i,it;ara.     The  (ii.iiid  and   (ireen    inett    in    ,1    11.11 
row    ^Dtj^e    mote    than    two    tlimtsand    feel    lU'ej)  ;    and    at    this    point    tiie    lafioiis  ol  ilu 
Colorado  bej^iti. 

ihe  first  is  called  Cataiitel  Cation.  It  is  .iliout  loit\  miles  Iodl;.  The  ileseent  ul 
the  river  thioiiyh  this  (.iHoii  is  verv  yreal,  ,n'd  the  \clo  \  aeipnied  b\  the  eiitreiit  h 
soinitiiices  eipril  to  the  speed  of  the  fastest  iailro,id-li,iiii.  (Iicil  biilticsses  ol  the  waW 
stand  out  into  the  rii'-hiiiu  Hood  at  fiopient  intervals,  tiirniiijj;  the  'apid  iiiricnt  into  i"'il 
inu  wliirlpuuls,  whieli  ucie  incoimtered  b\    the  adventurous  boatmen  with  ^leat   |>eiil  ,iiul 


largest    bianclus. 

Powell's  vc)\,ii;e 

ti  as  iIk-  souixi's 

re  held  liy   ni.mv 

;n   Rivers    in  tlic 
Ik-  coinse    <>l    llii 
11(1    a    lialf    m\'W\ 
M'lii'S    naineii    .uo 
|)()(il    anil    Vain|K> 
Cairow,  (iU'ii,  ;mil 
iiistanees,  is    imli- 
•i-cii    the    ilit'lVhut 
■olooieal    sliiKluK. 
helore  il    jniiis  ihc 

)   wide  and   lie.uili- 
l.le.      Indi'inl,  l;niii 
inn    III'    tl'.e  Cn.iml 
e    hundred   ei,i;ht\- 
mure  than   a  mile 
l.ali\iinlh   Canon, 
d    a    huiie    eiieiilai 
,t    have    heen    liul 
lurrel-'^liaiied  Im- 
IK'd    15(inila    lii .  1 
lakin    liv    Mijiii 
.itlorded    1 1:.-    <'\- 
iidotin^    lajiids.  m 

,1    ilddd    'if  w.iurs 
n    meet    in    a    n,ii 
the    eanons  o\  ilio 

Tiie  deM-eiil  ul 
1  !i\  llie  euiniil  i- 
vesses  nl  the  >a.iI1- 
d  iiivreni  inl"  I""' 
vilh  iiieal   jH'iil  aiul 


i.Ll.N     I    ANON, 


h^ 


506 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


N 


I     I     :' 


labor.  At  the  foot  of  Cataract  Cafion,  tlie  walls  of  the  chasm  approach  each  other,  and, 
for  a  distance  of  seven  miles,  the  water  rushes  through  Narrow  Cafion  at  the  rate  of 
forty  miles  an  hour. 

At  the  end  of  Narrow  Canon,  the  character  of  the  gorge  changes,  and,  from  tluu 
point  to  the  ;)lace  where  the  Paria  River  enters  the  Colorado,  a  distance  of  a  hundred 
and  forty  and  a  half  miles,  it  is  called  Glen  Cafion.  At  the  mouth  of  the  Paria,  a  trail 
leads  down  the  cliffs  to  the  bottom  of  the  cafion  on  both  sides,  and  animals  and  wagons 
can  be  taken  down  and  crossed  over  in  boats.     The  Indians  swim  across  on  logs. 

A  mile  above  the  Paria  is  the  Crossing  of  the  Fathers,  where  Father  Escalanto  and 

his  hundred  priests  passed  across  the 
cafion.  An  alcove  in  this  cafion,  which 
the  artist  has  drawn,  illustrates  the 
general  character  of  the  walls,  and  tlic 
scenery  from  which  the  cafion  lakes 
its  name.  The  smooth  and  precipi- 
tous character  of  the  wall."  of  Cilcn 
Cafion  is  well  shown  in  the  illustra- 
tion. The  chasm  is  carved  in  homo- 
geneous red  sandstone,  and  in  sonic 
places,  for  a  thousand  feet  on  the  face 
of  the  rock,  there  is  scarce  a  cluck 
or  scam. 

The  most  beautiful  of  all  the  ca- 
fions  begins  at  llie  nioutli  of  the  l\i- 
ria,  and  e.xti'iids  to  th("  junction  ol 
the  Little  Colojado,  or  Chicpiito,  as  it 
is  called  by  the  Indians.  This  |i.iit 
of  the  gorge  is  named  Maible  Cafion, 
and  is  si.Nty-five  and  a  half  miles  lony;. 
The  walls  are  of  limestone  or  niailiK. 
beautifully  carved  and  polished,  ;nid 
the  foriTis  assumed  have  the  ino'-t  it- 
markable  resemb'ances  10  ruined  architecture.  The  colors  of  the  marble  are  various- 
pink,  brown,  gray,  white,  slatc-coK)r,  and  vermilion.  The  beautiful  forms,  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  the  grand  scale  on  nhich  they  are  constructed,  are  given  by  the  two  views 
in  this  cafion,  which  the  aitist  has  drawn.  Hut  it  is  only  on  large  canvas,  and  In 
the  use  of  the  nianv -tinted  brush,  that  any  reproduction  can  be  made,  approachini: 
truthfulness,  of  the  combination  of  the  grand  and  beautiful  exhibited  in  the  seulptuiini;, 
the  colors,  and  the  awful  depth,  of  Marble  Cafion 


lliittrtsses   111    Marlile   Cafion. 


wm 


1  each  other,  and, 
at    the    rate   of 

s,  and,  from   that 

cc    of   a    huiiilrcd 

the   Paria,  a  trail 

rnals  and  wagons 

s  on  logs. 

ler  Escalantc  and 

massed   across  the 

this  cafion,  which 

n,    illustrates    the 

he  walls,  and  the 

the   cafion    takes 

oth    and    preci|ii- 

e    wall-    of   CiJLn 

1    in  I  lie   illustra- 

carved  in  hi  uio- 

ic,   and    in    some 

feet  on  the  face 

i   scarce   a  ciieck 

111   of  ail   the  ca- 
loiitli    of  I  lie  I'a- 

tho  junction  of 
ir  Chi(|uito,  as  it 
lians.  This  jiail 
d  Marhlc  Cafion, 
a  half  miles  lonjj. 
['Stone  or  mariije, 
id  polished,  and 
i\e  tiie  most  ir 
le  arc  varions 
rms,  witii  a  ^uu. 
the    two    views 

canvas,  and   In 
idc,    approaehinL' 

the  scul|itnrin^, 


MAKUUb     CANUN. 


5o8 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


\\ 


The  Marble  Canon  runs  out  at  the  junction  of  the  Clii(iuito  and  Colorado,  at 
which  point  the  Grand  Caiion  hc<iins.  The  head  of  the  (iraiul  Canon  is  in  the  noiili- 
eastern  part  of  Arizona,  and  it  runs  out  in  the  northwestern  part,  lyinir  whollv  wiihin 
that  Territory.  Its  general  course  is  westerly,  but  it  makes  two  great  bentls  to  the  soutli. 
It  is  two  hundred  and  seventeen  and  a  half  miles  long,  anti  the  walls  v.uy  in  height  lioni 
four  thousand  to  six  thousand  two  lunulred  .\\\>\  thirty-three  feet,  it  is  cut  througli  a 
series  ol  levels  of  varving  altituiles,  the  chasm  being  deepest,  of  course,  where  it  |)ass('s 
through  the  highest.  There  are  in  the  canon  no  perpendicular  cliffs  more  than  ihnc 
thousand  feet  in  height.  At  that  elevation  from  the  river,  the  sides  slope  back,  and 
rise  by  a  series  of  perpendicu  ar  cliffs  ami  benches  'o  the  level  of  the  surrouiuiiiiji; 
country.  In  manv  i)laces  it  i^  possible  to  lind  gorges  or  side-canons,  cutting  down 
through  the  upper  cliffs,  by  which  it  is  possible,  and  in  some  instances  easy,  to  approacli 
to  the  edge  of  the  wall  which  rises  perpendicularly  from  the  river.  At  three  thoiis.uul 
feet  above  the  river,  the  chasm  is  often  but  a  few  hundred  feet  wide.  .\t  the  hlglust 
elevation  mentioned,  the  distance  across  is  generally  from  hve  to  ten  miles. 

At  various  places  the  chasm  is  cleft  through  the  primal  grauMe  rock  to  the  depili 
of  twenty-eiglit  hundred  feet,  in  those  parts  of  the  canon,  which  are  many  miles  uf 
its  whole  extent,  the  chasm  is  narrow,  the  walls  rugged,  broken,  ami  prt-cipitous,  and 
the  navigation  of  the  river  danger(His.  The  daring  voyagers  gave  profoimd  thanks,  ,is 
though  they  had  esca|>ed  from  death,  whenever  they  passed  out  from  between  the 
walls  of  gr.mite  into  waters  confined  by  lime  or  sandstone.  Mr.  Moran  has  drawn  a 
section  of  these  grinite  walls,  showing  soin.-  of  tiie  pinnacles  and  butiresses  wiiiih 
are  met  at  every  turn  of  the  river.  The  waters  rush  through  the  granite  (.arions  at 
terrific  sjieed.  (ireat  waves,  formed  by  the  irregular  siiles  and  bottom,  threalnnd 
every  moment  to  engulf  the  boats.  Sprav  ''ashes  upon  the  rocks  liftv  f(  et  above 
the  edge  of  the  river,  and  the  gorge  is  Idled  witii  a  roar  as  of  llumder,  which  is  hend 
many  miles  awav. 

I'ortunately,  the  wonders  of  the  Cirand  CaFion  can  now  be  seen  without  incuriiny 
any  of  the  |>er'.l,  and  but  little  of  the  haiilship,  endured  bv  Major  Powell  and  his  com- 
panions. The  writer  of  this,  and  Mr.  Mor.m,  the  artist,  visited  two  of  the  most  inleresi- 
inp  points  in  the  cafion  in  jidv  and  .\ugust,  JvS;^  We  travelled  bv  stage  in  liimi 
vehicles— they  could  not  be  called  carriages — and  on  horseback  from  Salt- Lake  Citv  lu 
Toiiuerville,  in  Southwestern  I'tah,  and  thence  about  sixtv  miles  to  Kanab,  just  nmlli 
oi  the  Arizona  line.  Quite  passable  roads  have  been  constructed  bv  the  Mormons  this 
whole  distance  of  about  four  hundred  miles.  .\t  Kanab  we  met  I'rofesso."  A.  II.  Thomp- 
son, in  charge  of  the  topographical  work  of  Major  i'oweH's  survey,  and,  with  guides  and 
companions  from  his  camp,  we  visned  the  callon. 

Our  lirst  jtiurney  was  to  the  Toroweap  X'alley,  about  seventy  miles.  \\\  followini; 
down  this  valley  we  passed  through  the  upper  line  of  cliffs  to  the   edge    of  a  eh.ism  (iit 


I*  t 


lid  Colorado,  nt 
is  ill  the  iioiil,. 
iiiT  wliolly  wiihin 
nils  to  till'  south, 
ry  in  hciiiiit  lioni 
is  cut  throuijli  a 
,  wlu'ic  it  jxi SSI'S 
more  tliiin  three 
slope  hack,  aiul 
the  surrouiuliiifr 
IS,  ciittiiiy  down 
;asy,  to  ai)|)roacli 
I  tliii'c  thousand 
At  the  hijihcst 
les. 

k    to    the    ilepih 

many  miles  uf 

|iieci|)itoiis,  and 

found  thanks,  as 

1111     1  let  ween    I  he 

an    has  drawn  ,i 

liutiresses    whieh 

anite    ^aflons   at 

loni.    Ihreatened 

lifty    liet     aho\e 

which    is    heani 

iliiout  incnrrinu 
■II  and  his  eoni- 
le  most  inleiesl- 
stajfc  ill  himl 
It-Lake  ("ilv  to 
iinah,  just  nmih 
!  Mormons  this 
.'  A.  1 1.  Thoniji- 
with  guides  and 

Hy  foilowiiii: 
of  a  eliusm  i  iil 


WALLS     OF     THE     OI.A.NU    tAFON 


5IO 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


in  red  sandstone  and  vermilion-colored  limestone,  or  marble,  twenty-eight  hundred  feet 
deep,  and  about  one  thousand  feet  wide.  Creeping  out  carefully  on  the  edge  of  tlie 
precipice,  we  could  look  down  directly  upon  the  river,  fifteen  times  as  far  away  w,  the 
waters  of  the  Niagara  arc  below  the  bridge.  Mr.  Ilillers,  who  has  passed  througn  the 
cafion  with  Major  Powell,  was  with  us,  and  he  informed  us  that  the  river  below  was  a 
raging  torrent  ;  and  yet  it  looked,  from  the  top  of  the  cliff,  like  a  small,  smootii,  and 
sluggish  river.  The  view  looking  up  the  cafion  is  magnificent  and  beautiful  beyond  the 
most  extravagant  conception  of  the  imagination.  In  the  foreground  lies  the  profound 
gorge,  with  a  mile  or  two  of  the  river  seen  in  its  deep  bed.  The  eye  looks  twenty 
miles  or  more  through  what  apjiears  like  a  narrov/  valley,  formed  by  the  upper  line  of 
cliffs.  The  many-colored  rocks  in  which  this  valley  is  carved,  project  into  it  in  vast 
headlands,  two  thousand  feet  high,  wrought  into  beautiful  but  gigantic  architectural 
forms.  Within  an  hour  of  the  time  of  sunset  the  effect  is  strangely  awful,  weird,  and 
dazzling.  Every  moment  until  light  is  gone  the  scene  shifts,  as  one  monumental  pile 
passes  into  shade,  and  another,  before  unobserved,  into  light.  But  no  power  of  descri])- 
tion  can  aid  the  imagination  to  picture  it,  and  only  the  most  gifted  artist,  with  all  tlie 
materials  that  ar;ists  can  command,  is  able  to  suggest  any  thing  like  it. 

Our  next  visit  was  to  the  Kai-bal  Plateau,  the  highest  plateau  through  which  the 
cafion  cuts.  It  was  only  after  much  hard  labor,  and  ]iossibly  a  little  danger,  that  we 
reached  a  point  where  we  could  see  the  river,  which  we  did  from  the  edge  of  Powell 
Plateau,  a  small  plain  severed  from  the  main-land  by  a  prccijiitous  gorge,  two  thousand 
feet  deep,  across  which  we  succeeded  in  making  a  passage.  Here  we  beheld  one  of  the 
most  awful  scenes  uprn  ojr  globe.  While  upon  the  highest  ])oint  of  the  plateau,  a 
terrific  thunder-storm  burst  over  the  cafion.  The  lighting  flashed  from  crag  to  crag.  A 
thousand  streams  gathered  on  the  surrounding  jMains,  and  dashed  down  into  the  depths 
of  the  cafion  in  water-falls  many  times  the  height  of  Niagara.  The  vast  chasm  which  wc 
saw  before  us,  stretching  away  forty  miles  in  one  direction  and  twenty  miles  in  another, 
was  nearly  seven  thousand  feet  deep.  Into  it  all  the  domes  of  the  Vosemitc,  if  plucked 
up  from  the  level  of  that  valley,  might  be  cast,  together  with  all  the  mass  of  the  White 
Mountains  in  New  Hampshire,  and  still  the  chasm  would  not  be  filled. 

Kanab  Cafion  is  about  si.xty  miles  long,  and,  by  following  its  bed,  one  can  descend 
to  the  bottom  of  the  Grand  Cafion.  It  is  a  very  dilTicult  task,  retjuiring  several  days' 
severe  labor.  We  were  forced,  by  lack  of  time,  which  other  engagements  absorbed,  to 
abandon  the  undertaking  The  |)icture  drawn  by  the  artist  of  a  pinnacle  in  one  of  the 
angles  of  the  Kanab  is  from  a  photogia|)h  taken  bv  Mr.  Ilillers.  'Ihe  pinnacle  itself 
is  about  eight  hundred,  and  the  wall  in  the  background  of  the  illustration  more  than 
four  thousand  feet  in  altitude.  A  niiroad  is  projected  from  Salt-I.ake  City  to  the 
southern  settlements,  and,  when  it  is  constructed,  some  of  tlie  most  remarkable  portions 
of  the  Ciiand  Cafion  of  the  Colorado  will  be  as  accessible  as  the  valkv  of  the  Vosemii ". 


it  hundred  feet 
ic  edge  of  tlir 
ar  away  iv,  the 
;ed  tlirougii  tlic 
cr  below  was  a 
ill,  smooth,  and 
ful  beyond  the 
s  the  piofouiul 
:e  looks  twenty 
upper  line  of 
into  it  in  vast 
tic  architectural 
ivful,  weird,  and 
lonumental  pile 
wer  of  descrip- 
st,  with  all   the 

ough  which  tlie 
danger,  that  we 
.'dge  of  Powell 
-',  two  thousand 
leld  one  of  the 
the  plateau,  a 
ig  to  crag.  A 
into  the  depths 
hasni  whicii  we 
liles  in  anotiur, 
iiite,  if  plucked 
s  of  the  White 

H'  can  descend 
ig  several  days' 
Its  absorbed,  to 
in  one  of  the 
pinnacle  itself 
ition  more  tii;iii 
,e  City  to  tlie 
rkai)le  portions 
r  the  Vosemii '. 


KANAB     l_ANON 


If 


1 

1 

■i: 

1 
1  •     1 

:^H 

,r  ' 

'^ra 

i  I 

:H 

■i                                 .:H|! 

,' 

li 

r  ! 


'1 


CHICAGO     AND     MILWAUKEE. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    ALFRED     R.     WAUD. 


(llimpso  of  Lake  Michigan. 


/'"^HICAGO  is  as  incoTnparal)le,  in  its  own  way,  as  Rome.  Its  history  is  as  brilliant 
^-^  as  it  is  hricf,  and,  of  all  youn<r  .American  cities,  it  is  the  most  famous.  Less  tiuin 
half  a  century  ajjo  it  was  an  Indian  tradinij-station,  with  a  mixed  population  of  one 
hundred  whites,  hlaeks,  and  red-men.  Lonjf  before  the  site  was  visited  by  a  white  man, 
it  was,  as  we  learn  from  "Tin;  Amkkican  Cvclop.i:dia,"  a  favorite  rendezvous  for  several 
Indian  tribes  in  succession.  The  earliest  recorded  were  the  Tamaroas,  the  most  poweriiil 
of  many  tribes  of  the  Illini  (whence  the  name  of  Illinois).  The  word  Chicago  is  Indian, 
probably  corrupted  fnjm  Clicccaqua,  \\v  name  of  a  lonfx  line  of  chiefs,  meaning  "strong," 
a  word  also  applied  to  a  wild-onion  that  grew  [)lentil\illy  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
that    now    winds    thnnigh    its   busy    streets.      Let    us   accept   only  the   first    interpretation 


>^^- 


is  as  I)iilliant 
s.  Loss  tlian 
ation  of  one 
a  white  man, 
us  for  several 
nost  powerful 
igo  is  Indian, 
ling  "  strontr," 
of  the  river 
interpretation 


!'    f 


I!,!: 


SH 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


Ill 


of  the  word,  and  see  in  the  present  glories  of  the  city  a  transmitted  worth  from  the 
dusky  heroes  that  once  assembled  on  the  spot  for  words  of  wisdom  or  deeds  of  valor. 
It  was  first  visited  by  Marquette  in  1673,  and  shortly  afterward  by  other  French  ex- 
plorers. The  first  geographical  notice  occurs  in  a  map  dated  Quebec,  (,"anada,  1683,  as 
I'ort  Checagou.  A  fort  was  built  by  the  French,  and  abandoned  when  Canada  was  ccdid 
to  ('.real  Britain.  Fort  Dearborn  was  built  in  1804,  by  the  United  States  Governincnt, 
on  the  south  bank  of  tiie  Chicago  River,  near  its  mouth.  'n  181 2,  when  the  war  with 
Great  Britain  biokc  out,  the  government  ordered  the  fort  to  be  abandoned,  fearinsr  it 
could  not  be  held.  The  garrison  and  others  marched  out,  and,  when  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  the  fort,  were  attacked  by  the  Pottawattamie  Indians,  who  massacred  sixty  of  them, 
including  two  women  and  twelve  children,  and  then  destroyed  the  fort.  In  1816  the  foit 
was  rebuilt,  and  demolished  in  1856.  Chicago  scarcely  advanced  a  single  step  in  llic 
hundred  and  fifty  years  that  followed  the  landing  of  Marquette.  For  a  long  time  a  few- 
rude  timber  huts  and  a  mission-house,  on  the  low  banks  of  the  creeping  stream,  comprised 
the  settlement.  It  had  no  natural  beauties  to  invite  immigrants  with  a  taste  for  the  pictu- 
resque. Few  trees  sheltered  it  from  the  hot  shafts  of  the  sun.  North,  south,  and  west, 
the  |)'airie  leeched  to  the  horizon;  and,  from  eastward,  Lake  Michigan  rolled  in  on  a  Hat 
beach,  with  mournful  reverberations.  But,  if  it  was  deficient  in  beauties,  it  was  rich  in 
natural  facilities  for  commercial  intercourse.  With  the  filling  up  of  the  West,  the  town 
began  to  show  the  natural  advantages  of  its  situation.  In  1831  it  contained  about  twelve 
families  besides  the  garrison  in  Fort  Dearborn,  but  in  1833  it  contained  five  hundied 
and  fifty  inhabitants.  In  1837  it  was  incorporated  as  a  city,  when  the  inhabitants  num- 
bered four  thousand  one  hundred  and  seventy.  In  1850  the  population  reached  twenlv- 
eight  tiiousand  two  hundred  and  ninety-six,  in  i860  one  hundred  and  nine  thousand  twd 
hundred  and  sixty-three,  and  in  1870  nearly  three  hundred  thousand  souls,  exclusive  of 
the  suburban.     It  is  now  the  fifth  city  of  the  Union. 

Chicago  is  situated  on  the  west  shore  of  Lake  Michigan,  eighteen  miles  north  of 
the  extreme  southern  point  of  the  lake,  at  the  mouth  of  a  bayou,  or  river.  The  site 
of  the  business  portion  is  fourteen  feet  above  the  level  of  the  lake.  It  was  originallv 
much  lower,  but  has  been  filled  up  from  three  to  nine  feet  since  1856.  It  is  divided  into 
three  parts  by  a  bayou,  calleil  the  Chicago  River,  which  extends  from  the  lake-shore 
about  five-eighths  of  a  mile,  then  divides  into  two  branches,  running  north  and  south, 
nearly  parallel  with  the  lake,  about  two  miles  in  each  direction.  The  river  ami  its 
branches,  with  numerous  slips,  give  a  water-frontage,  not  including  the  lake-front,  of  thirty- 
eight  miles. 

The  destruction  of  the  larger  part  of  Chicago  by  fire,  in  1871,  is  still  fresh  in  the 
memory  of  every  reader — a  conflagration  tiie  most  destructive  of  modern  times,  which 
was  followed  by  a  rebuilding  of  the  city  with  an  expedition  and  in  a  style  of  splendor 
that  have  made  it  the  marvel  of  the  age.      Almost  the  entire  business  and  much  of  the 


I     :•■ 


worth  from  tlie 
deeds  of  valnr. 
her  French  e\- 
^ Canada,  1683,  as 
anada  was  cedid 
tcs  Government, 
en  the  war  will: 
doncd,  fearing  ii 
mile  and  a  half 
d  sixty  of  tluni, 
[n  1 816  the  fort 
g\e  step  in  the 
lontr  time  a  few 
tream,  comprised 
)tc  for  the  pictii- 
south,  and  west, 
lied  in  on  a  Hat 
s,  it  was  rich  in 
West,  the  town 
ed  about  twelve 
•d  hve  hiuulnd 
nhahitants  niim- 
rcachcd  twentv- 
e  thousand  two 
lis,  exclusive  of 

miles  north  of 
iver.  The  site 
t  was  orijrinally 
t  is  divided  into 

the  lake-shore 
)rth  and  south, 
i    river   and   its 

front,  of  thirtv- 

till  fresh  in  the 
III  limes,  which 
ile  of  sj)len(loi 
d  much   of  the 


,i,  i 


i/ ".■'■' I 


■   i 


5'6- 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


residence  portion  of  the  city  were  destroyed,  the  l)urned  area  covering  nearly  three  ami  a 
half  square  miles,  the  number  of  biiildinsis  destroyed  being  over  seventeen  thoiisiiiid, 
including  the  Court-1  louse,  Custom-1  louse,  Post-Ollice,  forty-one  churches,  thiriv-iwci 
hotels,  ten  theatres  and  halls,  the  total  loss  being  estimated  at  one  hundred  and  ninciv 
million  dollars. 

rpon  tiiese  ruins  has  arisen  a  city  of  singular  beauty.  It  cannot  be  claimed,  in  the 
rapidly-constructed  architecture  of  the  city,  that  the  best  taste  has  always  been  foiloucci. 
An  e^.ce^■s  of  trivial  ornament  is  everywhere  apparent.  But  tiie  business  portion  of  ilic 
city  has  fewer  evidences  of  bad  taste  than  elsewhere,  while  the  general  effect  of  tin 
facades  is  striking  anil  even  admirable.  In  ail  other  American  cities  tiiere  is  an  un|)itas- 
ant  incongruity  in  the  architecture — si)lendid  warehouses  cheek-by-jowl  with  mean  oius, 
tall  structures  jutting  up  by  short  ones.  TI.;::  unhandsome  irregularity  is  prevented  in 
Paris  by  municipal  regulation,  and  has  for  the  most  part  been  avoided  in  Chicago,  inas- 
much as  all  the  structures  are  new,  erected  according  to  tlie  latest  taste  and  most  (it\cl- 
o|)ed  ideas  in  arcliitecturc,  and  because  the  builders  have  seemed  to  act  with  some  sort  of 
cooperation.  The  view  on  the  ne.xt  page,  entitled  "  Madison  Street,"  gives  a  good  idc;! 
of  the  beauty  of  the  facades  in  the  new  business  ]iortion.  This  fact  gives  Chicago  the 
paim  ainong  American  cities  in  an  important  particular. 

Our  American  cities  are  not  usually  picturesque.  Their  sites  were  selected  for  com- 
mercial convenience ;  hence  they  are  generally  (lat.  Time  has  not  yet  mellowed  tin  ii 
tints,  nor  age  given  quaintness  to  their  structures.  Long  rows  of  handsome  business 
fanatics,  and  avenues  of  embowered  cottages,  however  gratifying  to  their  citizens,  do  mil 
supply  tile  stuff  whicli  the  soul  of  the  artist  hungers  for.  But  Chicago  has  one  very  st rill- 
ing picturesque  feature.  This  is  its  river,  winding  through  its  heart,  lined  with  warehouses, 
filled  with  vessels,  and  crossed  by  bridges.  Here  is  a  grateful  change  to  the  monotonv 
of  stone  and  mortar  ;  here  arc  animation,  rich  contrasts  of  color  anil  form,  pictures(|ue 
confusion — all  that  sort  of  stir  and  variety  that  an  artist  delights  in.  This  river  one  en- 
counters in  almost  any  direction  that  he  may  proceed  ;  and  one  who  loves  to  watch  mov- 
ing ships,  'nirrying  boats,  bustling  shores,  thronged  bridges,  can  amuse  himself  for  hours  in 
studying  'ij'  ever-varying  picture.  There  are  thirty-three  of  these  bridges;  but,  ample  as 
this  comiiunication  might  seem,  the  impatient  citizens  found  that  the  draws  of  the  bridges 
were  so  constantly  open  for  passing  vessels  that,  in  order  to  facilitate  connection  with 
different  parts  of  tiie  city,  tunncN  have  been  constructed  under  the  river.  These  ailii  a 
novel  and  interesting  feature  to  the  city,  as  well  as  greatly  facilitate  intercourse  between 
tlie  parts  se|)arated  by  the  river. 

A  very  l)eautiful  portion  of  the  city  was  not  destroved  in  the  great  conflagration. 
This  included  several  line  avenues  of  residences  extending  toward  the  south.  Wal)asii 
Avenue  and  Michigan  Avenue  are  as  famous  as  Fifth  Avenue  of  New  \'ork,  althougli 
not  resembling  that  famous  thoroughfare.      They  are   of  a   semi-suburban   character,  lined 


■ii 


ected  for  coiii- 
nicllowed  tluir 
dsonie  business 
;itizens,  do  ikm 

one  very  slrik- 
'ith  warehouses, 

the  monotony 
m,  pictures(|ue 
s  river  one  cn- 
to  watch  niov- 
If  for  hours  in 

hut,  ample  as 

of  the  bridges 
inneetion   with 

Tiiese  add  a 
ourse    between 

:  conflafrration. 
uth.  Wai)asii 
I'ork,  althougii 
;haracter,  hned 


'    ;»■ 


I       i 


:     1 

i     1 


iiCENES     IN     CHICAGO 


^"Pil 


iHV 


\-% 


51^ 


r/C TURESQ Uli    AMERICA. 


with  trce-shadowcd  \'illas  and 
mansions,  and  fine  clunciics; 
and  hcio,  at  all  fasliionalilc 
hours,  may  he  seen  ua\- 
thron^rs  of  eaniages,  eques- 
trians, and  pedestrians. 

Chicago  has  a  nolilc 
system  of  |)uhlie  ])arks,  eii\- 
ering  an  area  of  nineicrn 
hundred  aeres,  and  luiiiilicr- 
inti  six  distinct  enelosuits. 
All  are  not  yet  comijjetcd. 
One  ]iark  lies  on  the  lakr- 
shore,  and  affords  a  delJLilu- 
ful  drive  hy  the  green-tinud 
waters  of  the  great  inland 
sea.  Lincoln  fark  is  vciv 
charming,  with  its  little  lake, 
its  winding  stream  crossed 
hy  many  pietty  little  hridues, 
its  svlvan  glades,  and  iis 
wooded  knolls  ;  and  Jeller- 
son  l*ark  has  similar  charm- 
ing features. 

Among  ohjects  of  inlir- 
est  are  the  great  tunnei  loi 
sup|)lving  the  city  with  water 
from  the  lake;  artesian  wells; 
lowering  grain-elevators,  fmni 
the  tops  of  which  e.xpansivi 
\  lews  may  l>e  had  ;  immense 
stock-yards;  ai\d  the  usual  eil- 
ucational,  literary,  and  ail  in- 
stitutions that  in  every  Anui 
lean  city  spring  up  side  liv  side 
with  the  material   interests. 

Milwaukee  lies  ahmit 
ninet\  miles  directly  north 
ward      from      Chicago,     with 


•WB*«<Hrf"^^'W?WiW?W 


\vo(l  villas  and 
fine   cluirclics; 
all    fashioiiaMc 
)c      seen      yav 
rria<res,    c([ucv- 
estriaiis. 
has     a     iiolilr 
ilic    parks,  cnv- 
i     of     niiuinn 
,    and    numlici- 
net    cikIosuks 
yet    eoniiiiilcil. 
i    on    tlie    lakc- 
uitis   a    (k'litilit- 
iie  jrreen-tiniid 
J    ^roat    inlaiiil 

l\iik  is  vcrv 
1  its  little  lake, 
Stream  erossid 
ly  little  l)ri(l,ues, 
lack's,  anil  it^ 
s  ;     and    Jettn- 

similar  eharm- 

ilijects  of  inln- 
reat  tmuui  Un 
eity  with  walir 

artesian  wells; 
j-elevalors,  from 
vliieh  expansivi 

had  ;  iniinenM 
nd  the  usual  di- 
ary, and  art   in- 

in  every  Amei 
f  n|)  side  !i\  ^I'li 
rial   interests. 
•(•      lies      almiii 

din-ctiy    »<>"!' 

("hieajro,     with 


u 

< 
J 


m 
z 

D 


m 


520 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


which  there  is  communication  !^oth  by  rail  and  by  steamers.  The  sail  is  very  pleasant, 
rnd  occupies  only  a  few  hours.  If  vou  leave  Chicago  in  the  evening,  you  may  see  one 
of  the  lake-sunsets  of  which  so  much  is  heard — a  sunset  in  which  the  sun  descends 
behind  rolling  banks  of  clouds,  shedding  the  most  gorgeous  hues  on  the  sky  and  oi, 
the  sea.  On  the  way  northward  the  shore  of  the  lake  assumes  extraordinary  form-- 
especially  at  a  suburb  of  Chicago  called  Lake  Forest,  which  is  about  twenty-eight  niiK^ 
from  the  city.  Here  the  ground  is  soft  and  clayey,  and  the  constantly  encroaching  surf 
has  worn  it  into  curious  columns  and  peaks,  some  of  them  twisted  and  seamed  in  the 
most  astonishing  fashion.     The    forms   are    constantly  changing    under    the   action   of  tiu- 


shore   iif   l..ikc    .Mkliitjan. 


water,  and  we  are  told  ih:-;,  after  a  gale,  during  which  the  sun  l„t  been  v<  rv  high,  the 
appearance  of  the  shore  is  almost  completely  chargi-d  in  many  places.  At  one  |)oinl.  ,i 
bank  reaches  to  the  water  in  sharply-serrated  ridges,  which  iiave  the  e.xact  appearand  nt 
miniatuie  moimtain  -  ranges.  The  narrow  line  of  sandy  beach  is  often  strewed  with 
wrecked  trees  th.it  have  been  torn  from  their  beds  and  still  hold  their  leaves.  .\  niiit 
mehmcholy  sight  than  these  wanton  lavages  of  Nature  jtresent  can  scarcely  be  imagintil. 
A  short  distance  from  the  shore,  however,  the  count r\  is  very  picturesque,  and  tnanv 
Chicago  merchants  have  chosen  it  as  the  seat  of  their  sinnner  villas. 

Occasionally  ihr    shore    rises    into    a    noble   bluff  sinking  again  into  a  beach,  with  a 


very  pleasant, 

may  see  one 

sun    (lescemls 

ic  sky  and  d,, 

iidinary   foini'- 

ity-eight  niili  -; 

croachin<T  suit 

teamed    in    tlie 

action   of  tin- 


v  rv  liijili.  ill'' 

\l   one  poini,  .1 

a|)pearance  nl 

strewed    uilli 

aves.     A    HiMK 

\    111'  imajiinni 

|ue,  and    ni.un 


r 

U\ 

1  -ii 

'L 

WWf^ 

.>lt^ 

^ 

T^ 

•  1 

n 

.1 

:  *    -!;- 

i\ 


i 


,1  l>each,  willi  ■• 


w 


522 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


gloomy  wood  in  ihc  rear.  There  are  several  towns  and  villaires  on  (lie  route,  with 
here  and  tiierc  a  wliite  fishing-station,  consisting  of  a  rude  hut  on  a  low  heaeii,  ami 
half  a  dozen  row-hoats.  'I"he  most  imiH.rtant  of  the  towns  are  Kenosiia  and  Raeiiic. 
Kenosha  Hes  some  fifty  miles  north  of  Ciiieago  ;  it  is  situated  on  a  high  bluff,  has  a 
good  harbor,  and  the  surrounding  country  is  a  beautiful,  fertile  prairie.  Racine,  wliidi 
lies  seven  miles  (luther  to  the  north,  is  in  size  the  second  city  of  the  State  of  Wiscon- 
sin in  population  and  commerce,  and  is  noted  for  a   good    harbor.     It    is   situated  at   the 


f\ 


l.iikc    .Mitliij^aii,    nenr    l.akc    I  uhm. 


foot  of  Rock  River,  on  a  plain  I'ortv  feet  above  the  level  of  the  hike,  .uul  is  liaiul- 
somcly  laid  ou!  in  wide  and  well  l)uilt  streets.  Inunense  piers,  sirelching  far  oui  inln 
(he  hike,  are  a  characteristic  featuri-.     Racine  has  a  college  named  aftei   the  place. 

Milwaukee,  like  Chicago,  is  prepossessing.  It  Is  the  commercial  capital  of  VViseon- 
sin,  and  has  a  population  ol  nearlv  eight v  thousand  souls.  Like  ("!iicaj;o.  li>o,  ii  is 
divided  inio  three  districts  I'last,  West,  and  South  bv  a  juiulion  of  the  .Meiiomoiur 
and  the   Milwaukee   Rivers.     The  aiea    embiaeed    is    seventeen  milis   s(piare,  aid  contains 


the    route,    with 


low 


ncacli,  ami 


slia    ami    R 
hiyh   liluH,  I 


K1IK-. 


las     ;| 


■vaciiu',  wiiidi 


itatc-  ol    W 


ISOill- 


situatfd  at    tli. 


',  and    is    liand- 
fi    fat    out    inii' 

place, 
ilal   of  \Vis(oii- 
i  aiM>.  loo,   il    i'- 
Mcnoninih  1 
v.  ai  d  contains 


L<^^^    '^^4.'^   '^^*^3 


|-i^Iiin^;-st;ition. 


Kcnu^lm    Harbor. 


II 


524 


PICTURESQUE   AMERICA. 


one  huiidird  and  sixty  streets, 
with  fourteen  thousand  dwell- 
ings in  nine  wards.  The  ri\ei 
has  been  dammed,  and  its  banks 
are  the  site  of  se\';.ral  imjiortant 
industries.  The  ground  is  more 
hilly  than  in  Chicago;  and  Mil- 
waukee, in  some  particul.us, 
may  claim  to  be  the  |)retti<r. 
A  large  proportion  of  the  pop- 
ulation consists  of  Germans, 
who  give  the  city  a  distinctive 
eiiaracter  and  ajipearance.  The 
Americans  say  that  they  are 
like  the  inhabitants  of  a  vil- 
lage, and  are  all  familiar  with 
one  another's  names  and  busi- 
ness. Hut,  while  the  visitor  is 
constantly  confronted  by  (ier- 
man  signs,  and  his  ears  ate 
constantly  filled  with  (">erm,in 
sounds,  Milwaukee  people  have 
the  noticeable  briskness  ol 
mannt-r  peculiar  to  the  North- 
west. 

The  city  has  so  manv 
domes,  turrets,  cu|)olas,  spires, 
and  towers,  that  you  might 
imagine  yourself  in  some  Mid- 
iterranean  port,  especially  if  it 
happened  that  you  had  nt\ii 
been  in  a  Medili'rranean  iioii, 
The  architeetme  is  diverse  in 
the  extreme,  combining  the 
most  widely-different  styles;  luii 
it  is  invariably  ornate,  and  lav 
islus  plaster  .statuary,  plash  i 
and  iron  castings,  scroll-work, 
and  filigree,  without  distinction, 


CHICAGO    AND    MILWAUKEE. 


525 


and  sixty  streets, 
thousand  dwcll- 
rt'ards.  Tlio  ii\tr 
ned,  and  its  banks 
several  important 
e  ground  is  more 
"hicagu ;  and  Mil- 
iome  particulars, 
1)C  the  |)rc'ttiir. 
rtion  of  the  pup- 
;ts  of  Cit-rmans, 
city  a  distinctive 
appearance.  'Ilie 
y  that  they  are 
(itants  (if  a  vil- 
all  (aniiliar  with 
names  and  luisi- 
lile  the  visitor  is 
fronted  l)\-  (iei- 
lul  iiis  ears  ate 
d  with  Cierman 
jkee  peo|)le  have 
itrisivncss  of 
10    I  lie   Xorth- 

lias     so     manv 

cupolas,  spires. 
hat  you  migiit 
If  in  some  Med- 
,   especially   if  it 

you  had  nevt  1 
'diterranean  poii. 
re    is    divi'rse    in 

combining  ilu 
ferent  styles;  Imi 

ornate,  and  lav- 
statuary,  |)lasl(i 
ngs,  scroll-work, 
hout  distinction, 


on  the  smallest  and  largest 
buildings.  As  we  all  know, 
Milwaukee  is  called  the 
"  Cream  City  of  the  Lakes," 
not  because  it  is  famously 
lactescent,  but  because  the 
color  of  the  brick  used  is  a 
delicate  yellow.  This  mate- 
rial produces  some  very 
pretty  effects,  and  is  used 
very  largely.  The  outlying 
residence  -  streets  are  well 
sheltered  by  trees  and  shrub- 
bery, ami  most  of  the  houses 
have  large  gardens  in  the 
front  and  rear,  with  ample 
porticos  reaching  out.  (irot- 
tos  and  arbors  are  also 
found  in  many  gardens,  the 
arbors  sometimes  being  of 
the  most  curi(jus  form,  en- 
livened by  the  brightest 
jiaints. 

The  river  is  navigable 
for  the  largest  class  of  lake- 
vessels  two  miles  iidand  from 
the  lake,  and  is  spanned  by 
several  bridges.  The  wharves 
are  substantially  built  out  of 
wood,  and  are  lined  with 
'.andsomc  and  extensive 
structures,  vastly  superior  to 
those  found  on  the  water- 
front of  Chicago  anti  New 
York.  Propellers  of  a  thou- 
sand tons'  burden  are  moored 
It  the  very  door-ways  of  the 
newest  and  finest  warehouses, 
and  their  gangways  lead  con- 


^::  v^i  [ 


;;:':■! ;  1  • 


T^"*"*!*!!!! 


iiW 


■*''» 


528 


PICTURESQUli     AMERICA. 


I''' 


M  I 


I  ■ 


venicntly  into  the  liest  markets.  The  river,  indeed,  is  an  attractive  resort,  and  a  pair  of 
four-oared  shells  are  often  to  be  seen  pulling  briskly  among  the  fleet  of  steamers  and 
sailing-vessels  ever  moving  in  the  stream.  Milwaukee  manufactures  nearly  three  milliou 
gallons  of  lager-beer  annuall)'.  Immense  brick  breweries,  capacious  beer  gardens  and 
saloons,  abound  ;  but  the  beer-drinkers  arc  church-goers,  and  support  sixty  religious  edi- 
fices, of  various  denominations,  besides  many  excellent  literary  institutions  and  schools. 
Among  the  curiosities  of  the  place  arc  the  elevators,  which  have  a  storage  capacity  for 
five  million  bushels  of  grain,  one  of  them  alone  having  a  capacity  for  one  million  five 
hundred  bushels.  There  is  also  a  flouring-mill,  which  grinds  one  thousand  barrels  of  flour 
daily.  But  we  cannot  even  mention  all  the  things  that  are  to  be  seen  in  Milwaukee, 
and  can  onlv  add  that,  as  it  is  one  of  the  most  charmmg,  it  is  also  one  of  the  most 
active  and  pros|)erous  of  the  cities  in  the  Western  country. 

The  name  "Milwaukee"  carries  in  its  sound  the  evidence  of  its  Indian  origin.  It 
is  a  modified  spelling  of  "  Milwacky,"  the  designation  given  by  the  Indians  to  a  small 
village  near  the  site  of  the  present  city,  and  is  said  to  signify  "  rich  or  beautiful  land." 
Like  so  many  of  the  Western  cities  that  we  carelessly  call  new  and  young,  Milwaukee 
has  a  history  reaching  far  beyond  the  time  of  written  records.  Not  only  are  there  relics 
here  of  very  ancient  Indian  habitations,  but  the  mounds  found  and  opened  near  the  town 
show  unmistakable  proofs  of  the  residence  of  an  even  earlier  race,  whose  very  traditions 
are  now  e.xtinct.  .    " .  •  .^ 

1  he  authentic  and  recorded  i\.o\y  ot  the  site  of  the  city  is,  it  is  true,  very  brief 
We  have  no  mention  of  any  earlier  visitor  of  European  race  to  this  region  than 
Father  Marquette,  the  indefatigable  French  explorer,  who  came  here  in  1674.  After  him, 
very  few,  except  Jesuit  missiorarics  and  occasional  traders,  visited  the  plar*^,  until  the 
lieginning  of  the  present  century  In  1818  a  trader  of  French  descent  settled  in  the 
Indian  village  of  Milwacky — one  Salomo  Juneau,  whose  family  were  the  only  white 
inhabitants  until  1835.  After  the  IJlack-Hawk  War,  when  the  Indians  were  pressed 
farther  to  ihe  west,  others  came  and  settled  near  Juneau's  block-house.  George  Walker 
and  liyron  Kilbourn  a|)pear  to  share  with  the  I'renchman  the  honor  of  founding  the 
actual  town.  I'rom  their  village  to  the  Milwaukee  of  to-day  is  a  change  too  often 
repeated   in   our   Western   cities   to  continue  a  matter  of  wonder.  ■  • 


'"i)'',: 


?■ 


■  "7:^^^^'. 


and  a  pair  of 
f  steamers  and 
y  three  milliou 
;r  gardens  and 
i  religious  cdi- 
is  and  schools. 
ge  capacity  fm 
ne  million  live 
barrels  of  flour 
in  Mihvaukce, 
e  of  the   most 

ian  origin.  It 
ns  to  a  small 
beautiful  land." 
ng,  Milwaukee 
are  there  relics 
near  the  town 
very  traditions 

rue,  very  brief, 
s  region  than 
'4.  After  him, 
lar-^,  until  the 
settled  in  the 
he    only  white 

were   pressed 
ieorge  Walker 

founding  the         ^  ^fe^s 

ige   too   often 


i     I 


m 


'  *rf 


/'■'■i 


W 


A    GLANCE    AT    THE    NORTHWEST. 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS     BY     AI.FRKI)     K.     WAUD. 


-Il  nsCONSIN  people  are 
*  '  {generally  quiet  about 
the  l)eauties  of  their  State,  and 
submissively  listen  to  a  great 
deal  of  random  talk  about  lone 
haekwoods  ami  prairie -wastes, 
tliat  peoi)ie  wlio  have  not  l)een 
there  ignorantly  diffuse.  Hut  if, 
perchance,  when  you  are  |)laM- 
niiifj  a  suimner's  \acation,  you 
should  feel  wearv  of  the  mori' 
fre(]uented  routes  of  travel,  vou 
cannot  do  better  than  devote  a 
week  or  longer  to  a  journev 
that  includes  many  more  pictu- 
ris(pic  features  than  these  back- 
woods and  prairie-wastes.  Cio 
round  the  great  lakes,  for  in- 
stance ;  break  the  voyage  at 
one  of  the  lake-ports — say  M.i- 
nitowoc,  or  Sheboygan — and 
liiid  your  way  to  the  Wiscon- 
sin River  bv  the  Central  VV'is- 
K  111  sin   Railway. 

The  guide-books  and  ga/el- 
lieis  have  very  little  to  sav  on 
ilie  subject.  The  most  that  vou 
will  learn  from  I  hem  is,  that 
the  natural  feature  |)eculiar  to 
tile  Slate  is  the  uniformilv  of 
its  elevation  and  the  shape  of 
its  surface,  which  is  neither 
mountainous,  nor  Hat.  nor  hillv, 
Hut  gently  undulating;  that  the 
liver  Wisconsin  has  its  enliiv 
"'iiise    within     the     .State,    and 


III      K<M»|\      lill'll. 


■•I 


530 


PfC  rURliSQ LIE    AMERICA. 


that  it  Hows  centrally,  and  enters  the  Mississippi,  on  its  eastern  border;  that  the  only 
notable  hills  in  the  St:ne  are  a  ran<!;e  to  the  west  of  the  river,  which  still  do  nut 
deserve  the  name  of  mountains ;  that  woodland  is  abundant,  anil  especially  increases  in 
thickness  near  (ireen  Bay,  althoujjh  it  is  diversified  with  rollinj;  jjrairie,  marsh,  and 
swamp. 

But  there  is  much  besides  to  be  seen  in  this  lU'uleeted  State,  and  you  will  do  will 
to  pick  out  your  own  route,  or  select  (he  rambling  one  tiiat  we  followed  last  autumn. 
Near  Kill)ourn  ("ity,  a  sluj.;>>;ish  little  town,  about  half-way  between  the  source  and  tlie 
mouth  of  the  Wisconsin  River,  touelied  by  the  Lacrosse  branch  of  the  Milwaukee  and  St. 
Paul  Railroad,  you  will  find  Rood's  (lien,  a  bit  of  scenery  that  v.ill  vividly  recall  to  your 
memory  Havana  and  Watkins  Glens,  the  structure  of  which  it  resembles  very  closely,  as 
will  be  seen  in  our  artist's  sketch.  It  is  deep-set  between  walls  of  soft-looking  limestone 
and  moist  earth,  fissured  and  wriidclid  into  nian\  leilyes  and  terraces,  which  arc  so  neai 
tofjether  in  some  |iarts  as  to  almost  form  a  cavern.  The  bottom  is  smooth  and  sandy, 
covered  with  a  shallow  pool,  whieli  reltects  the  bright  j^reenery  of  the  trees  and  <rrass 
that  are  twisted  and  interbicked  into  a  natural  arch  overhead.  Some  leafy  bouj^hs  start 
out  from  the  moss,  then  stalks  interlaced  in  closest  union;' and,  as  they  sway  and  rustle 
in  the  bieeze,  the  cool  blue  of  the  skv  and  rifts  of  lleecy  cloud  are  also  mirrored  in  the 
silver  pool,  with  the  sombre  jrreen  of  the  mossy  recesses,  the  brown  shadow  of  the 
walls,  and  the  liiihtii.  fresher  shades  of  the  i;rass  and  foliajiie.  It  is  a  beautiful  spot, 
where  \()U  ma\'  rest  in  sweet  iilleness  for  hours,  listeninji  to  the  cadeneed  tricklinjj  of 
the  spring  as  it  blends  with  the  lluttering  of  the  leaves  ,uid  the  i  iiorus  of  birds  in  llie 
tields  around. 

And  not  manv  miles  from  this  unheard-of  citv  of  Kilboinn  are  other  scenes,  not 
less  pictuiest|ue.  In  Barraboo  Countv,  in  a  basin  for  the  most  part  walled  in  with 
abrupt  hills,  re|>oses  the  Devil's  Lake,  a  sheet  of  water  as  pretty  as  its  nanu-  is  repellent. 
It  is  of  no  great  extent,  n.)t  moif  than  one  and  a  half  mile  \\\  length;  and  it  does  nm 
figure  in  the  maps.  But  it  is  a  gem  of  Natuie;  and,  m  the  auuimn,  th*'  conliast  of  its 
still,  emerald-green  waters  with  the  rich  colors  of  the  foliage,  and  the  weird  forms  of  it^ 
gray  roeks,  is  ine.\piessibly  lovelv.  Its  origin  was,  without  doubt,  volcanic,  the  surround- 
ing cliffs  bearing  ev-denees  of  the  action  of  great  lie.it  as  well  as  of  host  Round  about 
too,  aie  manv  e.\ti,iordin,ii\  forms,  a  description  of  which  would  fdl  a  long  ,uid  interevi- 
ing  chaptei.  The  Devil's  Door-w.iv,  of  which  wc-  give  an  illusliation,  is  characteristic; 
and  fiom  its  poitals  we  obtain  an  excelh  iit  view  of  a  portion  of  the  I. ike,  ,ind  the  seient' 
vale  of  Kirkwood,  with  its  orchanis,  and  the  vineyards  that  are  alreadv  celebrated  fm 
their  wine.  Bevond  these  are  wide  naches  of  jiili  and  foie^t,  thick  with  a  dusky  growth 
of  spruce,  pine,  biich,  oak,  and  aspen,  extending  to  the  water's  edge,  and  abounding  with 
deer  and  other  game.  Cleopatra's  Needle  is  another  of  the  curious  niomiments  of  Na- 
ture's fre.iks  lo  which  we  hive  alluded.       it    is    an    isulati d   eolinnn   of   loek    nearlv  si.xlv 


;  that  the  onlv 
ich  still  do  nut 
lally  increases  in 
lirie,    marsh,   ami 

you  will  do  \w]\ 
ed  last  autumn. 
L'  source  and  tiic 
ilwaukec  and  St, 
llv  recall  to  youi 
5  very  closely,  as 
ookinjj  limestone 
liich  are  so  neii 
ootli    and    sandw 

tiees  and  ijrass 
;afy  boughs   start 

sway  and  rustle 
)  mirrored  in  tlu' 
I  shadow  u(  the 
a  beautiful  spot, 
iced    trieklintr  ol 

of   l)ii(!s    in    tlir 

ther   scenes,  nut 

walled    in    with 

me  is  re|)ellent, 

and  il   does  nm 

>■  eonliasl  of  ii'^ 

ird   tnrms  of   il-- 

ie,  the  surround- 

'Soimd  ahoiil 

nil,;  and  inleie'-l- 

is  characteristic  ; 

',  and  the  seicnc 

h    celebrated  fm 

a  dusky  jirowtii 

aboniKlinn  with 

luments  of    N;i- 

ii(k    iifirlx    si\i\ 


la 


sr- 


PIC  TL  R ESQ  LIE    AMERICA. 


Cleopatra's   Needle,    Devil'i    Lake,   Wisconiin. 


feet    hiph,  piercing   a    surrouiulinfr    hoskc-t   at     t   poiiil   wluiv    the   cliffs   arc    sheer   to   the 
bosom  of  the  liikc, 

Rcjraininjr  the  river,  we  travel  southward,  in  the  track  of  the  railroad  part  of  lln 
way,  passinj;  I.one  Rock,  a  dot  of  an  island  in  the  inid-stieani.  It  is  ncarlv  circular  in 
form,  with    an    area   of  not    many  sijuaic  yards;    and  its  sides  have  a  stnakv,  cornii^ati  il 


is  • 


/     GLAXLJi    AT    THE    NORl'l I WliST. 


533 


appearance.  A  score  or  so  of  tliin,  repressed  pine-trees  do  tlicir  l)cst  to  sliield  its  harren- 
ness  and  lie  IVitiully  ;  l)ut  it  will  not  l)e  comtbrted,  and  stands  out  lilcaklv,  the  current 
lapping  and  eddying  sadly  at  its  feet.  At  another  point  of  tlie  river  the  ixanidarv  rocks 
counterfeit  tlie  sterns  of  four  or  live  steamboats  moored  together,  with  their  several  tiers 
of  galleries,  one  above  another;  and,  as  we  apj)roach  the  Dalles  near  the  mouth,  there 
are  two  isolated  rocks  on  the  river-hank — one  of  them  closely  resembli'ig  a  cobbler's 
awl,  and  the  other  slightlv  suu;iiesling  the  same  unroinaiitie  article.      Hereabout  the  stream 


ftl 


'li 


v\ 


l.one    Kink     Wisioiisin    KiviT. 


sheer    to    the 


straggles  through  .1  desolate,  wild,  melanclioiv  reach  of  Hat  l.md,  with  low-lying  forests  of 
limler  around;  and  the  general  inclination  of  the  scenerv  to  look  like  something  artifi- 
cial is  again  manifest  in  an  ojiposite  lock,  tlu'  outlines  of  which  hint  at  the  paddle-bo.\ 
ol  a  steamer.  In  the  Dalles  we  pass  thiough  six  miles  of  enchanting  beantv,  'I'he  word 
(pronounced  </<//:),  which  has  become  verv  common  in  the  West,  is  of  I'rench  origin, 
and  means  "a  trough."  Hence  it  is  bestowed  on  this  p,nt  of  the  river,  which  passes 
between  hills  of  solid  limestone,  from  thiitv  to  one  himdred  feet  high,  '("he  forms  are 
among  the  tnost  pieturcs(iiie  that  we  have  vet   seen.     Souk    of  (he  rocks  rise  sharply  from 


ti;r 


534 


PIC  TURESQ UE    A M ERICA. 


the  water,  and  cxtciul  out.vanl  rear  their  summits,  so  as  to  form  a  sort  of  shelter  for  the 
luxuriant  grass  that  erops  out  in  slender,  wavy  blades  from  the  shoals.  Others  are  per- 
pendieular  from  their  base  to  the  table-land  above,  whieh  is  riehly  verdant  with  grass, 
and  evergreen  shrubs  anil  trees.  Mere  there  is  a  narrow  slope,  bringing  leafy  boughs  to 
the  water's  edge ;  and  yonder  a  shadowy  inlet,  its  entranee  hidden  by  a  curtain  of  deli- 
cately colored,  seemingly  luminous  leaves.  The  siiadows  on  the  water  are  of  exquisitely 
varied    hues    and    forms.      The    sky,  the    clouds,  the    leaves,  are  mingled  on  the  unruffled 


.Sleaiuboal   Uotk,   Wisconsin    Kiver. 


surface,  save  where  the  massive  rock  intervenes.  At  the  Jaws  we  move  from  one  sjiot 
which  we  ihiidv  the  most  lovely  to  another  that  excels,  and  on  through  inexhaustible 
beauties,  in  a  state  of  unalloyed  rapture.  There  is  as  much  "life"  in  the  Dalles  as  tht 
most  sociable  of  tourists  could  desire.  On  fine  davs  in  the  summer  the  water  is  skimmed 
by  pleasure-barges  and  row-boats,  filled  with  gayly-ilressed  |)eo;)le  from  neighboring  towns ; 
and  at  all  times  lumber-rafts  are  descending  slowly  to  the  Mississijjpi,  manned  by  hall 
savage,  outlandish   fellow.s,  thoroughly  picturesiiue  in  aspect,  if  nothing   else.      The    rocks 


shelter  for  the 
•tilers  are  per- 
uit  with  grass, 
,'afy  boughs  to 
:in"tain  of  deli- 
of  extiuisitely 
1  the  unruffled 


':f^. 


&"-'::^ 


^ 


from  one  spot 

inexhaustible 

Dalles  as  tht 

er  is  skimnieii 

loring  towns; 

nned  by  halt 

The    roeks 


536 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


echo  the  lauirhter  and  songs  of  the  pleasure-seekers,  who  pause  to  cheer  us  as  \vc  paddle 
farther  down  the  stream  toward  the  great  river  of  the  Soutliwest.  ' 

Scattered  over  the  i)lains  of  VV'isconsin  are  found  curious  earthworks  of  fantastic 
and  extraordinary  forms,  rehcs  of  a  race  that  inhal)ited  Wisconsin  centuries  ago.  At 
Aztaian,  in  Jefferson  County,  there  is  an  ancient  fortification,  five  hundred  and  fifty  yards 


Dalles  of  the   Wisconsin,   "The  Jaws." 


long,  two  luiiKhcd  ;nul  seventy-five  yards  wide,  with  walls  four  or  five  fcH't  iiigli.  There 
are  also  numerous  water-falls  to  be  seen  -the  Chippewa,  I5ig  Hull.  Crandfather  Bull,  and 
the  St.  Croix  -all  nf  them  interesting  and  .x'cssihle ;  besides,  i'cntwell  Peak,  an  oviil 
mass  of  rock,  three  hundred  feet  wide,  two  hundred  feet  high,  and  nine  hundred  feet 
long;    and   I'ortilication    Rock,  a  picturesque  stroke  of  Nature,  which  lowers  one  himdreil 


)  as  \vc  paddle 

is  of  fantastic 
lies  ago.  At 
iiul  fifty  yards 


liiiil).      TliiTf 

llicr   lUilI,  and 

l*f:tk.  an  ov;il 

lumdicd    feci 

line  luindnd 


'^ipjiiiiiip'rf'iifp" '  "!■■■■■  ■ 


1% 


538 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


feet   high,  and    on    one  side  is  a  sheer  preeipiee,  while   on    the   other   an   easy  descent  is 
made  to  the  plain  by  a  series  of  natural  terraces. 

From  Wisconsin  we  run  northward  to  the  thriving  town  of  Duluth  and  the  St.- 
Louis  River,  and  visit  the  Dalles  of  the  St.  Louis,  which  are  better  known,  but  not 
more  beautiful,  than  other  places  we  have  already  seen  in  our  ton.  The  sentiment  of 
the  scene  is  not  inspiriting ;  Nature  is  harsh,  rugged,  and  sombre,  tearing  her  way  in  a 
water-course  four  miles  long,  with  a  descent  of  four  hundred  feet.     The  banks  are  formed 


Red    River,    Dakota. 


of  cold,  gray  slate-rocks,  clad  with  an  amj)le  growth  of  bleak  pine,  and  twisted,  split,  and 
torn  into  the  wildest  of  shapes.  Through  tli^  dismal  channel  thus  bordered  the  current 
surges  with  terrific  force,  leaping  and  eddying,  and  uttering  a  savage  roar  that  the  neigh- 
boring hills  sullenly  reverberate.  Here  and  there  an  immense  bowlder  o])poses  and  is 
nearly  hidden  by  the  seething,  hissing,  foamy  waves,  which  dance  and  struggle  around 
and  over  it,  sometimes  submerging  it,  and  then,  exhausted,  falling  into  a  quieter  pace. 
Occasionally  the  spray  leaps  over  the  banks,  and  forms  a  silver  thread  of  a  rivulet,  which 
trickles  over  the  stones  until  its  little  stream  tumbles  into   the    unsparing   current    again. 


.'/     GLANCE    AT    Tlfn    NOR  TinV F.ST. 


539 


easy  descent  is 

1  and  the  St.- 
nown,  but  not 
sentiment  of 
r  lier  way  in  a 
nks  are  formed 


l'-  ■-/: 


^^ 


isted,  split,  and 
cd  the  current 
:iiat  the  neigii- 
|)|)oses  and  is 
rufjgle   around 

(|iiieler   pace. 

rividot,  which 
current    again, 


and  is  lost.  This  continuous  rapid  of  four  miles  is  a  grand,  deeply  impressive  sight ; 
hut  on  a  stormy  day,  when  great  white  clouds  are  roiling  downward,  and  the  wind  adds 
its  voice  to  that  of  the  tu>l)ulent  waters,  we  shiver  and  sigh  involuntarily  as  we  con- 
template it. 

Prom  Minnesota  we  cross  to  the  Red  River  of  the  Xortii,  in  Dakota — a  stream  with 
an  evil  reputation  for  its  sadness  and  hjneliness.  The  names  of  its  surroundings  are  far 
from  encouraging — such  as  Thief  River,  Sn<ikc  F'ver,  and  Devil's  Lake — hut  some  of 
the  scenery  has  a  quiet,  pastoral  character,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  accompanying  sketches. 
The  water  is  muddy  and  sluggish,  antl  within  Minnesota  alone  is  navigable  four  hundred 
miles,  for  vessels  of  three  feet  tlraught,  four  months  in  the  yeai.  The  banks  are  com- 
paratively low,  and  are  lu.xuriantly  grassy  and  woody.  There  are  "bits"  of  secluded  land- 
scape that  transport  us  to  New  England,  but  we  are  soon  recalled  l)v  a  glimpse  of  an 
Indian  trail  through  tl<e  grass,  a  canoe  toiling  against  the  stream,  and  a  clump  of  decay- 
ing trees  in  withered,  uncared-for  desolation. 


Indiiin  'rrail,    Rank   i>f    Kci)    River. 


H 


111 


1^  \  ■: 


THE    MAMMOTH    CAVE. 


w  I  T  II     1  I.  I.  r  s  r  K  A  r  ions    b  v     a  i.  v  k  i-.  n     k 


VV  A  U  D  . 


Cave  ut  Ki'ntLid<\ 
is  the  largest  known  cave  in  tin 
world.  It  is  situated  near  (ireeii  Riv- 
er, on  tile  road  troin  I,oiiis\ille  to 
Xasliville.  Some  explorers  elaini  In 
have  |Hiu'trated  it  to  a  distance  of  ten 
miles;  hut  they  |)iol)ably  exa^yjrerate,  a'- 
the  |ialhs  liirouiih  it  are  so  tortuous, 
and  the  progress  of  the  traveller  is  so 
much  ohslructed,  tiiat  they  mi<^ht  easil\ 
be  deceived.  Stalactites  of  ,<;i<jantie  sizi- 
and  fantastic  form  are  seen  here,  thouuli 
the\'  all'  not  as  brilliant  as  those  thiii 
adorn  other  and  smaller  caves  elsewhere.  But,  if  the  Mammoth  ("ave  is  dehcieiit  in 
pretty  effects,  it  is  crowded  with  wild,  fantastic,  and  deeplv  impressive  forms,  that  alinosi 
forbid  the  intrusion  of  the  curiosity-seekinir  tourist  from  the  surface  of  the  earth. 

The  railway  de|)osits  you  at  Cave  Citv,  and  thence  a  sta<re-ride  of  ten  miles  briiiu- 
you  to  an  old-fashioned  Kentucky  hotel,  where  guides  are  procured  for  the  e.\|)loratioii 
Each  person  is  ])rovided  with  a  lani]) ;  and  then  you  are  \vd,  in  military  order,  by  .1 
pompous  nejjro,  who    shouts    "Halt!"    and    "March!"   with  comical  gravitv,.  down  a  path 


•e  of   Kent  lick \ 

t\vn  Ciuc  in  the 

ai    (iiccii   l\iv- 

Louisvillc    to 

oiers  claim  to 
lislancc    ol    lin 

^  exaggerate,  as 

e    so    tortuous. 

travi'ller  is  so 

\v\  migiit  casilv 
of  gigantic  size- 
■en  iuTc,  tlioiigh 

it  as  tliosc  tluit 
is  deficient  in 
ms,  that  almusi 
e  earth. 

en  miles  lirinus 
the  e.N|iloiation 
;irv  orcU'r,  liy  .1 
:v,.  down  a  path 


;» I 


SCENES     IN     MAMM01H     CAVE. 


54^ 


PJL  TURliSOUIi    AMERICA. 


\\S 


that  enters  a  wooded  ravine,  and,  slanting  aside,  terminates  suddenly  at  the  portals  of  the 
cave.  The  entrance  is  abundantly  supplied  with  vegetation.  Trailing  plants  descend  from 
the  arch  above  ;  grass  and  moss  grow  thickly  around  ;  and  the  cool  beauty  of  the  scene 
is  ^'nhanced  by  a  slender  thread  of  water,  which  falls  continually  into  a  small  pool  below. 
But  you  have  little  time  to  linger  here.  The  conductor  lights  the  lamj)s,  and,  in  a  severe 
voice,  calls  "  Forward  I "  A  few  lichens  wander  a  little  way  in  from  the  entrance,  with 
the  daylight,  and  then  all  vegetation  abru|)tly  ceases.  V'o;;  are  ushered  into  a  primitive 
chaos  of  wild  limestone  forms,  moist  with  the  water  oozing  from  above.  A  strong  cur- 
rent of  air  is  behind  you,  as  you  think ;  but  it  is  in  reality  the  "  breath "  of  the  cave. 
In  explanation,  you  are  told  that  the  temperature  of  the  cave  is  liftv-nine  degrees  Fah- 
renheit the  year  round,  and  the  cave  exhales  or  inhales,  as  the  temperature  outside  is 
above  or  below  this  uniform  standard.  As  vou  proceed  iarther,  the  chill  felt  near  the 
entrance  passes  away,  and  the  air  is  still,  tbv,  antl  warm. 

For  nearly  half  a  mile  on  vour  wav  you  see,  in  the  dim  light,  the  ruins  of  the  salt- 
petre works  that  were  built  in  iSaS,  by  persons  in  the  employ  of  the  United  States 
Government.  The  huge  vats  and  tools  still  remain  undecayed.  The  print  of  an  o.x's 
hoof  is  embedded  in  the  hard  floor,  and  the  ruts  of  cart-wheels  are  also  traceable. 

Advancing  farther,  you  enter  the  Rotunda,  which  is  illuminated  for  a  moment  by  a 
sheet  of  oileil  paper  lighted  by  the  guide.  It  is  over  seventy-five  feet  high,  one  hundred 
and  sixty  feet  across,  directly  under  the  dining-room  of  the  hotel,  and  the  beginning  of 
the  main  cave.  These  things  are  imparted  to  you,  in  a  loud  voice,  by  the  guide.  Tin 
lami)s  throw  a  feelile  light  on  the  dark,  irregular  walls,  broken  in  places  bv  the  mysterious 
entrances  to  several  avenues  which  lead  from  the  mam  ewe,  and  are  said  to  extend  alto- 
gether a  distance  of  one  hundred  miles!  W'liat  if  the  lights  should  go  out.'  Tlu' 
thoughtful  guide  is  provided  with  matches,  and  he  will  i)roudly  tell  you  that  there  i^ 
scarcely  a  spot  into  which  a  traveller  could  stray  that  he  is  not  familiar  with.  As  you 
tramj)  onward,  vour  com|)anii)ns  ahead  are  rimmed  with  light  ;  and,  if  your  imagination 
is  active,  vou  might  transform  them  into  gnomes  or  other  inhabitants  of  tlu'  subterranean 
world,  albeit  their  movements  are  sedate  as  those  of  gnomes  doing  penance.  Anon,  too, 
the  supernatural  aspect  of  the  scene  is  heightened  by  the  lluttering  of  a  bat  that  spins 
out  of  a  dark  cievice  for  an  instant,  and  disappears  again  in  the  all-enveloping  darkness. 
If  vou  have  courage  to  look,  you  will  fnid  nests  of  his  brethren  in  the  walls,  and  ,i 
slv  rat  will  dart  away  at  your  approach.  One  chamber,  entered  from  the  Uotunda. 
bears  the  unattractive  name  of  the  (Irial  Hal-Roont ;  and  lure  thousands  of  the  lillle 
creatures  are  f(»und  snarling  .md  curling  their  delicate  lips  .it  all  intruders.  These  and 
the  lals,  a  few  lizanls,  a  strange  kind  of  cricket,  and  some  eyeless  lish,  constitute  tli< 
entire  animal  life  of  this  kingdom  of  everlasting  gl(K)m. 

I'rom  the  Uotund.i  \<)U  pass  beneath  the  beilling  Kentucky  Cliffs,  and  enter  the 
Gothic  Chapel,    a    low-roofcii    chamber    of    considerable    e.xtent        Sever.d     twisted    pilLw- 


portals  of  the 

descend  from 
'  of  the  scene 
ill  pool  below, 
nd,  in  a  severe 
entrance,  with 
ito  a  primitive 
A  stronjj  cur- 
of  the  cave. 

degrees  Fah- 
ture  outside  is 

felt    near   the 

ns  of  the  salt- 
United  States 
int  of  an  o.x's 
aceable. 
moment  by  a 
1,  one  hundred 

lH'<jinnin,ir  of 
.'  guide.  Till 
the  mysterious 
o  extend  alto- 
()    oul  .-'      The 

that  tlure  is 
with.  As  you 
ir  imagination 
c  subterranean 
e.     Anon,  ton, 

111  that  spins 
ping  darkness. 
e  walls,  and  a 
the  Kolund.i, 
s  of  the  little 
s.  These  and 
constitute    tlu 

md    enter    the 
wisted    pillars 


,!■ 


SCENES    IN     MAMMOTH    LAVE 


i)  ?■ 


544 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


ascend  from  the  jjround  into  arches  formed  of  jagged  rock,  and,  in  tiie  distance,  there 
are  two  which  form  an  altar  of  gUttering  splendor  as  the  light  falls  on  their  brill- 
iant stalactites.  Near  here,  too,  is  the  Bridal  Chamber,  and  the  guide  will  tell  you 
how  a  certain  maiden,  having  promised  at  the  death-bed  of  her  mother  that  she  would 
not  marry  any  man  on  the  lace  of  the  earth,  came  down  to  this  dark  place  and  was 
married.  lie  will  also  tell  you  that  these  great  stalactites  that  are  so  massive  take  fifty 
years  to  grow  to  the  thickness  of  a  sheet  of  ])aper.  Then,  with  a  sharp  word  of  com- 
mand, he  will  lead  you  on   into  fresh  wonders. 

There  are  rivers  and  lakes  among  the  mysteries  of  the  Mammoth  Cave,  and  you 
are  floated  in  a  small  boat  on  tlie  dark,  stilly,  lone  waters,  among  columns  and  walls, 
arches  and  spires,  leaden-hued  rock  and  jewelled  stalactites,  lighted  up  by  a  daring  torch 
in  the  guide's  hand.  Memory  cannot  retain  a  distinct  idea  of  the  thousand  weird  forms 
that  are  constantly  flitting  before  the  eye.  As  you  pass  one  point,  a  mass  of  rock 
assumes  a  human  form,  lowering  upon  you,  and  the  next  instant  it  vanishes  from  the 
sight  into  the  darkness. 

The  next  halt  is  in  another  wide  room,  in  the  middle  of  which  rests  an  immense 
rock,  in  the  exact  shape  of  a  sarcophagus.  This  is  called  the  Giant's  CofTin,  and  the 
guide,  leaving  you  alone  for  a  minute  or  two,  reappears  on  its  lid,  his  form,  shadowed 
on  the  wall,  imitating  all  his  movements.  Above  the  shadow  you  will  notice  the  figure 
of  an  ant-eater,  one  of  the  many  sha|)es  with  which  the  ceilings  of  the  caverns  arc 
adorned  by  the  oxide  of  iion.  \'ou  will  then  rest  a  while  under  the  Mammoth  Dome, 
which  appears  much  over  a  hundred  feet  high,  with  its  magnificent  walls  of  sheer  rock, 
and  at  Napoleon's  Doine,  which  is  smaller  than  the  former,  but  haidly  less  interesting. 
Afterward  the  guide  will  conduct  you  to  the  edge  of  a  projecting  rock  overlooking  a 
hollow,  the  surface  of  which  is  composed  of  bowlder-like  masses  of  rock,  ridiculously 
called  the  Lover's  Leap.  In  the  Star-Chamber  the  stalactites  assume  new  forms,  even 
more  curious  and  beautiful  than  the  others;  and.  in  Shelby's  Dome,  vou  are  ushered 
into  a  scene  of  indescribable  grandeur.  The  height  seems  limitless,  and  the  eye  traces  on 
the  walls  innumerable  scrolls,  panels,  and  fanciful  projections  of  the  most  variel  design 
and  beauty.  Under  the  dome  is  the  celebrated  Mottomless  Pit,  which  has  a  di  li  of 
one  hundred  and  seventy-five  feet,  and  a  wooden  Bridge  of  Sighs,  which  leads  loni 
this  chasm  to  another,  called  the  Side -Saddle  l*it.  A  railing  surrounds  the  prini  ,tal 
pit,  and,  as  you  stand  holding  to  it.  and  |)eering  into  the  depths,  the  guide  illuminate^- 
the  dome  above,  affording  one  the  grandest  sights  in  the  cave. 

At  a  point  called  the  Acute  Angle  there  is  a  rude  pile  ol  unhewn  stone,  called 
McPherson's  Monument,  which  was  built  bv  the  surviving  statf-oHicers  of  that  general 
A  stone  is  occasionally  added  to  the  pile  by  those  of  McPherson's  soldiers  or  friends 
who  visit  the  cave. 


I  distance,  there 
;  on  their  brill- 
e  will  tell  you 
that  she  would 
k  place  and  was 
lassive  take  fifty 
p  word  of  com- 

i  Cave,  and  you 
umns  and  walls, 
y  a  flaring  torch 
iand  weird  forms 
a  mass  of  rock 
iinishes    from   the 

rests  an  immense 
Cofiln,  and   the 
i   form,  shadowed 
notice  the  figure 
the    caverns    are 
Mammoth  Dome, 
Us  of   sheer  rock, 
y  less   interesting, 
ck  overlooking  a 
rock,  ridiculously 
new   forms,  even 
you   are   ushered 
the  eve  traces  on 
ost    varii'l    design 
1    has  a  d(     h  of 
which    leads      om 
nds    the    prin^  ,)al 
guide    illuminates 

hewn  stone,  called 

rs  of  that  general, 

oldiers  or  friend"; 


NEW    YORK    AND    BROOKLYN 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS     BY     HAKRV     FENN. 


New-Vork    Bny. 

'T^ill'J^I'l  are  few  cities  in  tlu  world  so  admirahlv  ituated  as  New  \'ork.  I  he 
*-  grand  lludson  rolls  its  waters  f)n  one  side;  the  ss'ift  and  deej)  tides  of  the  i'ast 
kiver  wash  it  on  tiie  other;  hoth  unite  at  its  southern  e.\tren»i(v,  wiiere  they  expand 
into  a  broad  hay  ;  and  tliis  Imv  is  practically  a  ia'ui-ioeked  harbor,  that,  by  a  narrow 
irate-way,  opens  into  the  expanses  of  the  .\tiantir  The  II  idson  comes  down  from  the 
north,  a  wide,  deep  stream  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  opening  intercourse  with  the 
lar  interior;  the  I-^ast   River,  which  is  an  arm  of  the  sea  lathcr  than  n  river,  opens  twenty 


'3> 

I ;:  ' 

15. , 
If 


II' 


' 


i.' 


546 


PICTURESQUE    AMERICA. 


miles  from  its  mouth  into  Long-Island 
Sound,  establishing  by  this  water  -  course 
and  tributary  streams  connection  with  tiie 
New  -  England  States.  Bays  and  rivers 
completely  encompass  the  place.  It  is  an 
island,  very  narrow  at  its  southern  or  bay 
end,  broadening  in  its  centre  to  a  widtli 
of  two  miles,  and  narrowing  again  at  its 
northern  extremity.  On  its  eastern  side, 
eight  miles  from  the  Battery,  is  the 
mouth  of  the  Harlem,  a  mere  bayou  ol 
East  River,  which,  running  west  and  then 
northerly,  connects  by  Spuyten  -  Duyvil 
Creek  with  the  Hudson,  forming  tlu 
northern  boundary  of  the  island,  which, 
on  its  eastern  side,  is  eleven  miles  lont;. 
The  island  is  frequently  known  by  tin 
name  of  Manhattan,  so  called  after  the 
Indian  tribe  that  once  made  it  their 
home. 

Our  artist  approaches  the  city  by  iIk 
way  of  the  sea.  We  sail  up  the  broad 
expanse  of  water  known  as  the  Lower 
Bay,  nearing  the  famous  Narrows,  a  com- 
paratively contracted  channel,  formed  1>\ 
the  projection  of  Long  Island  on  one 
side  and  Staten  Island  on  the  olhei. 
The  shore  of  each  island,  at  the  narrow- 
est part,  is  crowned  with  forts,  fortified 
by  embankments,  and  both  bristle  with 
cannon.  The  Long-Island  shore  is  com- 
paratively Hat,  but  is  handsomely  wooil- 
ed,  and  some  pretty  villages  and  villi' 
peep  out  from  their  screens  of  foliaj^e. 
State.!  Island  rises  into  fine  hills,  whicli 
are  crowned  with  noble  mansions  ninl 
graced  with  park  -  like  grounds,  while  ;ii 
their  feet,  on  the  shtire,  cluster  busy  aiuJ 
bustling  villages. 


NEW    YORK   AND    BROOKLYN. 


547 


Through  the  Narrows  opens  the  In- 
ner Bay  ;  and,  as  we  swiftly  cut  through 
the  crisp  and  ever -fretted  waters,  New 
York  rises  before  us  from  the  sea,  in  the 
centre  of  the  picture  ;  the  city  of  Brook- 
lyn, on  Long  Island,  to  the  right,  spreads 
a  far  and  measureless  sea  of  roofs,  with 
endless,  sky-aspiring  spires  ;  the  shores  of 
New  Jersey  extend  along  the  far  western 
border  of  the  picture,  on  the  left,  with 
faint  markings  of  Jersey  City  a  little  be- 
yond, on  the  shores  of  the  Hudson.  The 
picture  cannot  easily  be  excelled  for  beau- 
ty ;  but  one  or  two  bays  in  the  world 
are  finer,  and  none  are  more  animated 
with  stirring  and  j)icturcsque  life.  Here 
are  the  tall,  white-sailed  ships ;  the  swift, 
black-funnelled  steamers;  the  stately  steam- 
boats from  the  Hudson  or  the  Sound; 
the  graceful,  winged  pleasure-yachts ;  the 
snorting,  bull -dog  tugs;  the  quaint,  tall- 
masted,  and  broad  -  sailed  schooners  ;  the 
flotilla  of  barges  and  canal  -  boats ;  the 
crab-shaped  but  swift-motioned  ferry-boats, 
all  coming,  going,  swiftly  or  slowly,  amid 
fleets  of  anchored  ships,  from  whose  gaffs 
fly  the  Hags  of  far-off  nations.  Ncw-\'ork 
Bay,  when  the  air  is  crisp  antl  bright,  the 
sky  brilliant  with  summer  blue,  the  swell- 
ing shores  clear  and  distinct  in  tlieir 
wooded  hills  and  clustering  villages,  the 
waters  dancing  in  white-crested  waves  in 
the  glaring  sun,  affoiils  a  picture  that  can 
scarcely  be  equalled.  A  similar  animation 
marks  the  two  rivers.  Our  artist  has 
sketched  the  moving  panorama  of  the 
Rast  River,  also  showing  llie  unfmishcd 
tower  of  the  contemplated  bridge — a  pict- 
ure full  of  life,  color,  and  light. 


v\  \   ,i 


NEW    YORK    AND    BROOKLYN. 


549 


As  we  approach  the  city 
we    note   the    fringe   of  trees 
and     the    circular,    fort  -  like 
structure  that  mark   the   low- 
er    border.      These     are    the 
Battery  and   the   Castle  Gar- 
den— the  Battery   a   pleasure- 
promenade,   with    a   fine   sea- 
wall,    and     the     Garden,    so 
called,     the     great     entrepdt 
through  which  the  vast  bodies 
of  immigrants  from  the    Old 
World   pass  into    the   life   of 
the  New  World.     Castle  Gar- 
den   was    once    a    fort,   after- 
ward   a   summer    tea-garden, 
then  a  music-hall   and  public 
assembly  -  room,   and    is    now 
the  headquarters  ot  the  Com- 
missioners     of      Emigration. 
The     Battery    was    once     the 
only   pleasure-ground    of  the 
New-V'orkers,  and,  if  its  his- 
tory were  accurately  and  fully 
written,  it  would  tell  a  strange 
story    of   love    and    flirtation, 
of    famous    persons    and    fair 
dames,    of    ancient     Knicker- 
bockers, of  life  'social  and  po- 
litical, interwoven  in  a  varied 
woof.       It     has     fallen     into 
fashionable  disrepute,  although 
it   has  been  enlarged  and  laid 
out    anew.      But  the   fine  old 
trees   that    mark    the    ancient 
l)lace    look     scornfully    down 
upon     the    unhisloiic    exten- 
sion, with  its  feeble  new  trees 
and  its  walks  barren  of  asso- 


'.al«yr^ 


A     NEW-YOHK     HIVER-FRONT. 


NEIV    YORK    AND    BROOKLYN. 


551 


ciation    and   unfamiliar  with   ro- 
mance. 

Before  entering  the  heart  of 
the  city,  let  us  glance  with  the 
artist  at  a  quaint  and  picturesque 
scene,  lying  but  a  siiort  distance 
from  the  Battery  on  the  East- 
River  side.  This  is  a  |)ortion 
of  the  town  which  modern  im- 
provement has  left  untouched; 
the  wharves  where  the  old-fash- 
ioned shi])s  from  far  -  off  ]K)rts 
discharge  their  precious  cargoes; 
where  merchants  of  the  old 
Knickerbocker  quality  conduct 
their  business  in  dark  and  un- 
savory chambers  ;  where  the  old 
tars,  the  Cuttles  and  Bunsbys, 
arc  wont  to  assemble;  where  the 
very  idea  of  a  steamship  is  pro- 
fanation —  a  venerable,  quaint, 
and  decaying  place,  dear  to  the 
hearts  of  the  ancient  mariners. 

Within  the  city,  our  artist 
takes  us  at  once  to  the  spire 
of  Trinity  Churcli.  This  famous 
editke  is  comparatively  a  new 
church  upon  the  site  of  one 
dating  far  back  into  tlie  annals 
of  tlie  city,  ll  is  a  new  cluncli, 
but  the  grounds  around  it  are 
marked  by  ancient  and  crum- 
bling grave  -  stones,  an  antique, 
tree  -  embowered  spot  in  tlie 
heart  of  the  busiest  portion  of 
the  town.  Trinitv  Churcli  is 
less  than  half  a  mile  from  the 
Batterv,  standing  on  Broadway 
and    facing    down    Wall    Street 


W 


Triiiilvt'luirili     lower. 


# 


w 


S5« 


PIC  TURESQ  UE    A  ME  RICA. 


which  all  the  world 
knows  as  the  monetary 
centre  of  the  continent. 
From  the  outlook  of 
the  spire  the  picture  is 
a  varied  one.  Looking 
southward,  the  spectator 
sees  Bowling  Green,  a 
small  enclosure  at  the 
terminus  of  Broadway, 
and,  just  beyond,  the 
Battery,  with  the  circu- 
lar mass  of  Castle  Gar- 
den, Beyond  these  are 
the  bay,  with  Governor's 
Island  and  its  fort,  and 
the  distant  hills  of  Stat- 
en  Island.  The  views 
from  our  elevated  posi- 
tion are  all  good.  The 
artist  has  given  a  glance 
up  Broadway,  which  gives 
one  an  idea  of  the  spirit 
of  this  ])art  of  the  street, 
shows  some  of  the  tall, 
marble  structures,  and 
indicates  the  bustling 
throngs  upon  the  pave- 
ments below. 

The  artist  has  made 
no  attempt  to  illustrate 
the  varied  features  of 
the  metropolis,  but  sim- 
ply to  give  a  glimpse  or 
two  at  its  interior,  by 
which  the  imagination 
may  build  up  a  tolerabl)' 
correct  idea  of  the  char- 
acteristics   of    the    place. 


A'/Sir    YORK    AND    BROOKLYN. 


553 


'4 


In  one  picture  he  lias  com- 
bined views  of  three  of  the 
most  noted  of  the  small  parks 
of  the  city.  Washington  Park 
lies  off  a  little  west  of  Broad- 
way, and  is  the  starting-point 
of  the  fashionable  Fifth  Aveniie. 
The  castellated-looking  building 
that  stands  on  its  eastern  bor 
der  is  the  University,  a  Gothic 
pile  of  considerable  age  and 
quaint  aspect,  suggestive  of  the 
mediaeval  structures  that  lie  scat- 
tered through  the  European 
countries.  Union  Square  is  at 
the  bend  of  the  main  division, 
of  Broadway  ;  Fourteenth  Street 
is  its  southern  and  Fourth  Ave- 
nue its  eastern  border.  H«re 
are  statues  of  Washington  and 
Lincoln.  Madison  Stjuare  is 
half  a  mile  north  of  this,  ly- 
ing with  great  hotels  and  busi- 
ness places  on  its  western  side, 
"and  sedate,  aristocratic,  brown- 
stone  houses  on  its  other  con- 
fines. It  is  at  a  point  that  is 
considered  the  social  centre  of 
the  city. 

From  this  point  our  artist 
takes  us  to  the  tower  of  the 
novel,  Oriental  -  looking  syna- 
gogue at  the  corner  of  Forty- 
second  Street  and  Fifth  Ave- 
nue, from  which  we  have  a 
cursory  glance  at  the  highway 
of  fiishion.  Every  city  has  as 
handsome  streets  as  Fifth  Ave- 
nue ;   to  those,  indeed,  who  like 

Ml 


k 


m 


broailwa; ,    U'lm     iiinily,    New    York. 


ft 


UVi 


Ifi, 


NEW    YORK    AND    BROOKLYN. 


555 


streets  of  embowered  villas, 
many  are  handsomer ;  but  no 
city  has  an  avenue  of  such 
lenpfth  piven  over  exclusively 
to  wealth  and  elegance.  From 
its  southern  extremity  at  Wash- 
ington Park  to  the  entrance  of 
Central  Park  at  Fifty  -  ninth 
Street,  the  distance  is  two 
miles  and  a  half,  and,  with  the 
exception  of  the  short  space  ■il 
Madison  Scjuare,  it  presents 
through  this  long  extent  one 
unbroken  line  of  costly  and 
luxurious  mansions.  The  streets 
that  branch  from  it  to  the 
right  and  the  left  have  mostly 
this  same  characteristic  for  a 
(luarter  of  a  mile  either  way  ; 
so  that,  in  an  oblong  square  of 
two  miles  and  a  half  by  half  a 
mile,  there  is  concentrated  an 
undisputed  and  undisturbed  so- 
cial   supremacy. 

At  the  corner  of  Fifty- 
ninth  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue 
is  tiic  main  entrance  to  Cen- 
tral Park.  This  park  extends 
northward  to  One  Hundred 
and  Tenth  Street,  or  a  distance 
of  two  and  a  half  miles,  but  it 
is  not  more  than  half  a  mile 
wide.  Central  Park  is  the 
pride  of  the  metropolis.  Less 
than  twenty  years  ago  the 
greater  part  of  its  area  was  a 
mass  of  rude  rocks,  tangled 
brushwood,  and  ash-heaps.  It 
had    long  been   the   ground  for 


II' 


A   c;iiuipse   of   Fifth    Avenue. 


1  !.!! 


^# 


"^H, 


3CBNES    IN    CENTRAL    PARK 


ST 


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f    I 


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'M'^^^-'--/': 


..-■•+.• 


NEW    YORK    AND    BROOKLYN. 


557 


depositing  city-refuse,  and  tens  of  thousands  of  cart-loads  of  this  refuse  had  to  he  re- 
moved before  the  natural  surface  could  be  reached  or  the  laying  out  begun.  Art  had 
to  do  every  thing  for  it.  There  were  no  forests,  no  groves,  no  lawns,  no  lakes,  no 
walks ;  it  was  simply  a  desert  of  rocks  and  rubbish.  The  ground  was  excavated  for 
lakes ;  trees  were  planted  ;  roads  and  paths  laid  out  ;  bridges  built.  The  result  is  a 
pleasure-ground  that  is  already  famous,  and  only  needs  a  little  more  maturing  of  the 
trees  to  be  one  of  the  iiandsomest  parks  of  the  world.  It  is  not  so  large  as  some  in 
Europe,  but  its  size  is  not  insigniticant,  numbering  eight  hundred  and  forty-three  acres  ; 
while,  in  its  union  of  art  with  Nature,  its  many  bridges  of  quaint  design,  its  Italian-like 
terrace,  its  towers  •  and  rustic  houses,  its  boat  -  covered  lakes,  its  secluded  rambles  and 
picturesque  nooks,  its  wide  walks  and  promenades,  it  is  unapproachcd  in  this  country  and 


ll.irli'm    Kivcr,    High    !'■     I^e. 

ar.cxcelled  abroad.  Our  artist  gives  a  few  glimpses  at  places  in  the  park,  but  it  \  mid 
take  a  volume  to  illustrate  it  fully.  One  clement  of  satisfaction  in  tin'  |>ark  is  that  il  is 
not  only  an  art  and  pictures(]ue  triumph — it  is  a  po|)ular  success.  Its  superb  drives  aie 
thiDnged  with  vehicles,  while  all  its  paths  are  occupied  on  summer  afltrnoons  by  im- 
mense numbers  of  the  people,  'llie  enjoyment  of  the  visitors  is  c-nhaneed  by  many 
extraneous  means.  'Ihere  are  an  aviary  and  a  menagerie  tolerablv  well  fdled,  and  which 
are  the  nuclei  of  what  are  destined  to  be  large  institutions,  and  there  is  also  a  Museum 
of  Natural  Histoiv.  ihere  an-  lK>ats  »»n  tin  lakes;  a  cameia;  and  twice  a  week  there 
is  music.  For  the  children  there  are  nur^eri*"^  goat  -  carriages,  camel  -  riding,  swings, 
"  run-rounds,"  and  jiher  devices. 

Above  Central   I'ark    the  whole    island    has    been    recently    laid    nut    anew  iii    ;uperh 


m' 


.t\ 


i  1 


A!<$^: 


^ui^SMKStfm 


55« 


P/C  T(  -RJuSO  ( 11    AMERICA. 


J " 


r 


drive-  ind  hioaci  pulilic  ways,  where  one  may  always  sec 
the  la  iw.rsL-s  i,f  tlie  I)Io(h1s.  But  all  lure  is  new,  and, 
with  ilic  exception  of  the  roads,  iineonstriieted.  There  is 
the  animation  of  crowded  thoroughrares,  hut  nothing  pict- 
uresque. At  Harlem  River,  which  forms  the  northern 
houndary  of  the  island,  there  is  a  change.  The  hanks  of 
this  rivt-r  are  high  and  well  wooded.  It  i'^  crossed  hy  se\-- 
eral  bridges,  and  Vm  a  viaduct  for  the  \\;iiers  of  the  Cro- 
tun,  which  are  here  wought  into  the  town  from  the  rural 
districts  ahove  for  ci*.  u.se  of  tiie  citizens,  and  which  is 
known  hy  iIk-  some^riiui,r  incorrect  and  very  prosaic  desig- 
nation of  Higti  Bridge.  Jt  is  a  handsome  staicturc,  how- 
ever, of  high  granite   pieip;   and   graceful   arches,  and  shows 


trom  dillerent  points  of  view, 
through  vistas  of  trees,  fn.m 
the  nprii  river,  fioni  distant  hills,  from  approach- 
ing drives,  with  singular  and  even  loftv  beautv. 
I  he  tall  lower  shown  in  the  engia\ing  is  for 
the  elevation  o(  llie  rioion  i<.  an  .illilnde  sulTi- 
cient    to   give    it    force    for    the    suppiv    of    rcsi- 


Ititjli    Hriilco   nml    Wal<'r  Tower. 


AUnV    YORK    AXD    BROOKLYN. 


559 


lay  always  sec 
L-  is  new,  and, 
led.  'riicic  is 
t  nothing  ])ict- 
tlic  nortiiern 
1  Ih'  hanks  ot 
crossed  l)y  se\- 
■rs  of  the  Cro- 
from  the  rural 
,  and  which  is 
'  prosaic  desiy- 
stnicture,  how- 
hes,  and  shows 


*»4K*,      ;t.t;u 


dences  on  the  high  banks  in   the  upper  part  of  the  city.     Tower  and  bridge  make  a  line 
effect. 

King's   Bridge  crosses  the  river  near  S|)iiyten-r)uyvil  Creek,  which  unites  the  Harlem 


Kinij'^    IliiUge. 


with  tlic  Hudson.  This  is  .ni  old,  historic  ^ridire,  iik-ntiliod  witli  man\  nf  the  larlv 
events  in  llie  history  of  the  town.  I'lu  st-tnu-  Ihtc  has  M.im^thiug  ot  thai  lipr  tm  llow- 
n»ss  and  effcctivt    -•'>'■•""-    of   landsca|H-   with    Ddjuncl^   of  xi\.    that    givi     such    i    cKirm 


.S6o 


PIL '  TURESQ UE    AMERICA. 


rs?^' 


'h-^     Wl*^^ 


Spuyten-Dujyil  Creek. 


to   old  -  country 
scenes.    The  ar- 
tist    also    ^ives 
us  a  glimpse  of 
Spuyten    Duyvil    near    tin:    Hudson,  the  tall 
escarpments   in   the   distance  being   the  well- 
known   Palisades  of  the  Hudson. 

From  Harlem  we  proceed  to  the  great  city  of 
Brooklyn,  lying  opposite  ^o  New  York,  on  Long  Island, 
glancing  on  our  way  at  two  famous  points  in  the  East  River.  One  is 
Hell  Gate,  situated  at  a  narrow  bond  of  the  river,  near  the  point  where  the  Harlem 
debouches.  It  is  filled  with  dangerous  rocks  and  shallows;  and,  as  the  tide  is  very 
swift,  the  channel  narrow,  the  bend  abrupt,  there  is  alw,iys  danger  that  a  vessel  may 
be  driven  upon  the  rocks.  Some  of  the  more  dangerous  obstructions  have  been  re- 
moved, and,  as  we  write,  extensive  subterranean  channels  are  becoming  opened  undir  the 
rocks,  which  are  evcntuallv  to  be  lilled  with  powder,  and  the  shallow  reefs  blown  to 
atoms.  Blackwell's  Island  begins  ju:,t  below  Hell  Gate,  and  e.vtends  about  two  iniles 
southward.  It  is  occupied  solely  by  city  institutions,  penal  and  otherwise.  Here  are  the 
House    of  Correctidi).   [.unatic  Asylum.  Workhouse,   and  rity   Penitentiary.'    The  beauty 


NEW    YORK   AND    BROOKLYN. 


56. 


' 


of   the   place    is   not   lost   by  the   uses  to  which    it    is  put,  while    its  interest  is  enhanced 
by  its  fine    buildings  and   imposing  oflicial  character. 

.  Brooklyn  lies  directly  opposite  tD  New  York  ;  it  spreads  seaward  along  Long-Island 
shore  toward  the  Narrows,  and  extends  along  East  River  for  some  miles.  It  is  a  city 
without  public   buildings    of  interest,  and    without    a    commerce    of   its   own,  being    little 


TSi  ^j"  ft^^'^f^'-.'^^i 


Hell    Gate. 


more  than  New  York's  vast  dormitory.  It  is  a  very  attractive  city,  however,  on  account 
of  its  handsome  streets,  its  home-like  resietences,  its  many  churches,  and  one  w  two 
highly  picturescfue  spots.  Clinton  Avenue  is  considered  the  most  elegant  of  the  streets. 
It  is  not  unlike  the  tree-embowered,  villa-lined  avenues  of  many  other  cities  ;  althougii 
unexcelled,  it  is  perhaps  quite  equalled  by  some  of  its  rivals.  The  residences  on  the 
Heights  are  choicely  situated,  commanding  from  their  rear  windows  views  of  New  York, 
the  river,  and  the   bay — a   wonderfully  brilliant  and  stirring  picture. 

Brooklyn    boasts   of   a  handsome  public  park,  of  five  hundred  and  fifty  acres  in  ex- 
tent, and  known  as  Prospect  Park.     It  is  situated  on  an  elevated  ridge  on  the  southwest 


I'  ' 


Hlackwell'.^    I  si 


border  of  the  city,  affording,  from  many  points,  extensive  views  of  the  ocean,  Long- 
Island  Sound,  the  bays,  and  New-York  Harbor.  Fine,  broad  ways  lead  out  from  the 
park,  one  reaching  to  Coney  Island,  on  the  Atlantic,  three  miles  distant,  'ihere  are 
beautiful  groves  of  old  trees  in  the  park,  a  lake,  summer-houses,  etc.,  its  naliinil  advan- 
tages having  been   supplemented  i)y  many  tasteful  devices  of  the  landscape-gardener. 


PROSPECT     PARK,    BROOKLYN. 


UKOOKLYN     STREET-SCENtS. 


